


Euphoria

by emxobarker



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: Addiction, Depression, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Fluff, Harry Styles - Freeform, Heroin, IV - Freeform, Romance, Smut, harry - Freeform, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emxobarker/pseuds/emxobarker
Summary: Cherry is drowning. She’s made a mess of herself with drugs and grief. Not knowing where the line went that she obviously crossed. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever come back from the hole she’s fell down, but once she meets Harry, her world becomes even more confusing. Does she let him help her or does she fall even deeper into the depths of despair?
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw// graphic drug use, mature content, language and themes 
> 
> //
> 
> This is my first fanfic in about 12 years. Give me your feedback! xx

My head is spinning. I can’t catch my breath. My heart is racing a mile a minute and my vision is blurring on the edges. This is always what happens right before I pick up. I can’t think or see or smell or taste or feel anything except the drug that’s in my hand. Loading up the needle causes my hands to shake and my eyes to hyper-focus on the task. My mouth waters and I can’t even pull out of my parking spot before I’m already loading the rig with heroin. Disgusting word isn’t it? Heroin. Makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it. I don’t like that word at all. I try to pretend it’s anything other than what it actually is. I’ll ruin my high if I keep this up. I clear all my thoughts and tie off my arm. As soon as I hit my vein, nothing. No more thoughts. No more anxiety. No more anything.  
Numb.  
Numb.  
Numb. 

I’m laying in a field full of daisies. The sun washing over my skin, lathering me in warmth and color and light. So much light. I come here on my days off work. No one knows about this spot. None of my friends have ever stepped foot here. It’s only mine. And only his. The smell of flowers soak into my clothes and my hair. I read my books here, sometimes I even journal on days that are really tough. This is the only place that I can see him. He doesn’t visit me unless I’m laying in the flowers. He likes the flowers, he said they make me look like a faerie. He always said the white of the petals accents my dark hair and tan skin. He would lay with me and look at the clouds. What do you see? I’d ask him. And he’d turn to me and say;

Only you.

After hours of laying and reading and writing, the sun starts to set. The sky is showered in different hues of orange and pinks. This was always his favorite part; watching the sunset. He always told me that looking at me was like watching the sunset every day. I shut my eyes and listen to the birds say goodnight and I feel myself yawn. I can’t stop yawning. I know I’m not tired, so there’s only one explanation: I’m starting to get sick. I sigh and pack up my things and take the walk back to my car. Before I leave, I say one last goodbye and blow him a kiss in the clouds. I’m almost positive I feel the answering wind on my cheek.

I hate being sick. Don’t all drug addicts hate it, though? Is that what I am? A drug addict? I can’t think about that now. Let’s just make me better again. 

After I make myself well, I pull into my favorite little cafe. Downtown LA has plenty of Starbucks and plenty of boho coffee shops to pick from, but my favorite is a quaint place nestled in the corner of an alleyway. You’d miss it if you didn’t know it was there. He showed me this spot, said it was where he would always find his inspiration while working on a song. I walk inside and the smell of coffee fills my nose. There’s indie music playing on the speakers and the walls are painted dark purple, making the room feel comforting. There’s a bookshelf in the far corner. It’s one of those “take one, leave one” shelves, where anyone can help themselves for free. There’s plants all over and little tables and chairs packed into the room. The decorations are busy and don’t make any sense but that’s what I love about it. It’s chaotic and uncertain. I’m also chaotic and uncertain, in case the narrative has failed to show that so far. I walk up to the counter and Jules is working. She smiles at me and already starts to put my order in.

“Look who it is. I didn’t think you’d make it today. You’re about 15 minutes late.” She jokes. I roll my eyes at her and smile. 

“I’m being a bit unpredictable. Maybe I should really throw you off and change my order.” 

“Cherry, you’ve gotten the same thing every day for the past 3 years. I think I’d have a heart attack if you switched it up on me.” I laugh and pay her, throwing a couple dollars in the tip jar. She hands me my very predictable medium iced caramel latte and I head over to the bookshelf. I finished Lolita earlier in the flowers so I put the book back on the shelf and scour the remaining options. I’ve read about half of them already and since it’s been established that I’m thoroughly uncertain, it takes me about twenty minutes to decide on 1984 by George Orwell. 

I’ve been sitting at the table reading and drinking for a little while now, so immersed in the book that I don’t notice when a man is standing over me. He clears his throat and I look up. I absolutely loathe getting interrupted while in the middle of a captivating story but I raise an eyebrow at him, coaxing him to say whatever he came here to say.

“Big brother’s always watching isn’t he?” I blankly stare at him for a few moments before I answer because of two things: one, he has a British accent. Cool. Two, what a weird thing to say while I’m literally in the middle of my book. Was that really important? 

“Oh I see you’ve read the book. Lovely. Now, do you mind if I do?” I roll my eyes and look back at the page.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen anyone reading that before and it’s one of my favorites. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sorry again, I’ll let you get back to it.” He’s rambling. I must’ve embarrassed him. I ignore him and after a moment he walks away. I take a peek at him while his back is to me. He’s tall, long limbs and a head full of dark curly hair. He has on a black tee shirt that shows his tattoos littering one arm but I can’t tell what they are. He goes and takes a seat at a table across the room, obviously avoiding any eye contact with me. I look back down and continue reading.

The lights get brighter and Jules tells me and the few remaining stragglers that it’s time for closing. I gather up my stuff and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Once outside, I light a cigarette and stand against the wall. I don’t want to go home yet. The night air is cool and refreshing, making my skin prickle with goosebumps. Aside from the daisies, I enjoy after hours. I like being up at night. Everything is silent, almost eerie. The bustling streets and loud tourists are asleep. Even the birds bid their farewell and I’m all that’s left. I like that, being the only one left. 

“Smoking is awfully bad for you.” A deep voice says to my left. Without looking I already know it’s the guy from earlier. Not many times you hear a voice like that. It’s raspy and heavy, thick with his accent. I keep my eyes closed and lean my head against the wall while I answer.

“I know. Unfortunate isn’t it.” 

“Very. Would you like me to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t?” 

“Absolutely not. I’m surprised you don’t. Your voice sounds like you suck down at least a pack a day.” He doesn’t answer right away and scares the shit out of me when he actually laughs. I snap my head towards him and see a dimple popping out of his left cheek. It’s almost impossible not to smile back. I mean, a dimple? How adorable.

“I’m flattered darling. Not everyday you get a compliment like that.” 

“I’m happy to be of service.” I mock curtsy and flick the cigarette butt into the street.

“And you litter. Wow, what upstanding qualities.” 

“I know, I’m quite the charmer. It’s been a nice chat, but my bed is calling my name.” 

“And what’s the name that your bed is calling you? If you don’t mind me asking.” I start to walk away, but call over my shoulder, “Chloe, but you can call me Cherry.” 

“Cherry. I like that. I’m assuming there’s a story behind a nickname of that caliber?” 

“Yes there is, but you’ll never know. I’m sure you’ll tell me your name before I go, even though I’m not asking.” He laughs again. 

“Definitely a charmer. I’m Harry. Nice to meet you Cherry.” I give him a two finger salute and make my way towards the parking lot, slightly smiling. Harry. I’ve got to give the kid props. He still spoke to me after my little sarcastic comment about the book. I’m not the most approachable person. And he’s now approached me twice. Admirable. I’ve never seen him around before, but it’s not like I pay much attention anyways. I fleetingly think to myself, I wonder if I’ll see him again. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I push it away. Far away. I can’t think those things. He wouldn’t like me thinking anything at all about another guy. Can they hear your thoughts in heaven or hell or wherever the fuck they are? I think so. Either way, can’t take the chance. Who’s Harry again? Can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. No one matters anymore. I’m all that’s left. I’m the only one left in the whole entire world. I stifle a yawn. And then another. Keep yawning. I’m driving down the interstate and I can’t stop yawning.

Fuck. 

I unlock my door and stumble into my apartment. I did a little too much, but I’ll level out soon. My normal guy didn’t answer so I had to go elsewhere and it’s much stronger than I’m used to. I throw my bags down in the hallway and sit on the ground in front of my mirror. Who am I looking at? My eyes look more blue than earlier. My hair looks brittle and delicate. My cheekbones are protruding and my collarbones are sharp and prominent. I put my hand up to the mirror. My finger tattoos are faded and gray. My nails are chipped and broken. Did I always look like this? I sit there for hours, staring and waiting for my high to wear down. Finally, it’s 3am and I get up, meandering over to my bed. I peel my clothes off and crawl under the covers. The walls are white and my beds white. Everything’s so pure and almost translucent. It makes me feel pure, too. Makes me feel light and airy, like I’m a cloud. I like the clouds. Whenever I asked, what do you see? He’d say, only you. 

I fall asleep thinking about nothing, nothing, nothing except a dimple on a left cheek. 

———————————————————


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is blinding. I’m sweating. My hair is sticking to my forehead and my bones feel like they’re breaking. My body aches and I can’t stop shaking my legs. The mornings are always the worst. Waking up dope sick is an everyday occurrence but it seems to get worse each time. My cat is hungry and whining, rubbing her little head on me to try and get me up.

“Hold on Baby, you know Mommy needs to get better first.” I scratch her head and slowly, so so slowly get out of bed. My legs are still shaking. My bones are still breaking. I’m still sweating. My lips are chapped and dry. I wonder if this is what it feels like to die.

I’m much better now. Baby is fed and happy. I’m in the shower, washing off the slick layer of sweat and the very discernible smell of sickness clinging to my body. I wash my hair and bask in the warm water rolling over me. It releases the tension in my back from the muscle spasms I had earlier. After enjoying it for a little bit longer, I shut off the shower and step out, steam filling the bathroom while I lazily grab a towel. It’s 8am now. I walk into my room and look at my reflection. My pupils are pinned, making my eyes jarringly more blue against my olive skin. I’m skinny. Skinnier than I’ve ever been. I drop the towel and look at my body. My hip bones jut out of my skin and my rib cage snakes up my sides. I’m not unhealthy yet. Just thin. I hope. Who cares. I turn away and get dressed, opting for a pair of black jeans and a baggy gray button up. I put on my black ankle boots and brush my hair out, letting it air dry while I make my way to the kitchen for breakfast. Breakfast meaning a banana and some toast, but it’s better than nothing. I hardly eat anymore. Nothing tastes good, nothing fills me up. Dope is the only taste I need. Is that what drug addicts say? Who cares. Who cares, who cares, who cares anymore. 

I grab my sunglasses and my bag, heading out the door.

I’m driving towards the cafe. Music blaring and windows down. I feel good today. I feel him more than I have all week. He’s in the air and the sun, saying hello through the clouds scattering the sky. I feel good. So so good I almost forget that I’m sad. 

I walk inside in a much cheerier mood than usual. Joe, behind the counter, greets me with coffee in hand. Same time, every day. Predictable, remember? I sit in my spot and take my book out again. And then I remember.

Harry.

As if the universe heard me, he saunters up to my table dripping with that smooth effortless confidence from last night.

“My darling Cherry, how are you?” He flashes a smile filled with perfect teeth and showcasing that very dimple that plagued my sleeping thoughts. 

“Oh Harry, what a wonderful way to start my day. Who would’ve thought I’d have been blessed with your presence twice in 24 hours?” I reply, voice seeping with sarcasm. I smile back, letting my good mood radiate through it. I motion for him to sit down across from me. He does.

“I just had to come back and continue our riveting conversation from last night. You were telling me how beautiful my voice was, remember?” 

“I think I said you sounded like a chain smoker, but I could’ve been wrong.” 

“Same thing. So tell me, what does the lovely Cherry have planned today?” He puts his head on his hands, elbows propped up on the table. His green eyes unwavering as he stares into mine. I’ve never been one to break eye contact first, so staring back just as harshly I say, “My schedule is pretty booked. What about yours, my lovely Harry?”

“Ah, still just as charming as I remember. I’m actually going to the studio now. But I’d love to see you again, not just in a coffee shop.” 

“You have. Outside it, remember? Don’t be greedy.” I smile and wink, sipping on my coffee. 

“That hardly counts. You barely stayed to chat.” I laugh and roll my eyes. He’s not wrong.

“Well, how about you give me your number and I’ll see if I can squeeze you in. Before you go, tell me, what are you doing in the studio?” I ask him. He starts to write down his number on a napkin for me.

“Maybe if you text me later, I’ll tell you. Enjoy your morning Cherry.” He winks, slips on his sunglasses and heads out the door before I can even reply. I look down at the number written in front of me. 

Harry.  
Harry.  
Harry. 

I wonder why he’s going to the studio. Does he sing? Does he write? Rowan used to write. Songs and songs and songs that I can never get out of my head no matter how many drugs I shove in my veins. Songs about me and about him. Songs about hurt and pain and the sunsets and the clouds and me. 

Always about me.

But why did he leave me if he wrote songs about me? The melodies lingered but he never did. 

It’s been four hours. I haven’t texted him. He would be so angry at me. So so angry at me. If they can’t hear our thoughts, he definitely just heard me ask another man for his number. I’m sad again. 

It has now been six hours. I’m laying in the daisies. The trees surround the small space and encompass the flowers, almost like a wall to the outside world. The sky is blue, so so blue. The clouds are moving and I’m moving with them. Floating and floating. This is my space. And his. It’s where we fell in love. It’s where I fell in love with heroin, too. It’s where we both did, falling in love with each other and the high at the same time. Soaring into the skies every time we laid in the daisies. Even the bugs knew that they weren’t welcome here. Even they knew this is only ours. I’m high and sad. I’ve never felt more alive in this exact spot and I’ve also never felt so dead in this exact spot. The white flowers and the green leaves and the brown trunks and the blue skies make me feel like I don’t exist anymore. That I’m up in the clouds with him again. He would be so angry at me. I’m crying now. Why did I ask for his number? I felt so good this morning, I was laughing. The question just fell out of my mouth. Harry was so easy to banter with. I didn’t mean to ask him. I’m so sorry, Rowan. Don’t be angry please. You know there’s no other man but you. I can almost feel the answering wind smack my cheek. I’m still crying. I’m high and sad. I take out my lighter and burn Harry’s number, watching the ash float away in the breeze. Dancing in the sky. Dancing, dancing, dancing away from me, away from my mind as well as my hand. Nothing matters anymore. Just me and Rowan laying in the daisies watching the clouds while he watches me.

The sun sets. I go home. I can’t go back to the cafe knowing I’m not going to contact Harry. Not today. Rowan wouldn’t like that. He’d want me to go home and cuddle with Baby. I walk inside and change into some comfortable clothes, picking up Baby and laying on the couch. I watch movie after movie but I don’t really remember anything I’m watching. Green eyes swarm my vision and I don’t know why this man keeps popping up in my thoughts. He’s beautiful, that much is obvious. His jawline and cheekbones are all sharp angles and his lips are pink and full. And those eyes. They’re deep green with undertones of yellow, so vivid and filled with question. Why am I thinking about him? His head is thick with curls; dark, wild curls all over, falling into his eyes in a way that seems natural and light and breathtaking and Rowan would be so angry at me. But Rowan isn’t here anymore. He left me alone, alone, alone in this terrible city filled with terrible people who don’t give a damn about me. Everyone is gone. I’m the only one left in the whole entire world. Except Harry. Harry’s here. He exists, too. Rowan left me and he was too fucking selfish to stay. I need to get high. I’m sad and angry. Why did I burn his number? I shouldn’t have. I should’ve. I’m chaotic and uncertain and I’m falling falling falling down and there’s no hands to pick me up again. Rowan didn’t want to pick me up again. Rowan wanted to leave and never come back and it’s his fucking fault I’m here alone with nothing but the rain pelting the windows and the characters in books to keep me company. 

I fall asleep with a needle in my hand and an unfalteringly desire to hate myself for what I’m going to do tomorrow when I see Harry at the cafe.


	3. Chapter 3

Wake up. Dope sick. Same feeling everyday. Same cycle everyday. Can’t break it. Gotta get high. Gotta relieve the pain. 

Why was I sad again? Can’t remember. 

I head to the cafe on a mission. I’ve got to get Harry’s number again. I hope he’s there. Will he give it to me again? What do I tell him I did with the last one? I don’t know why I care to have it so much. I barely even know the guy. Something about him just pulls me in. He made a spark inside me. I wouldn’t even call it a spark, to be honest. Just a little light, the tiniest little ball of light illuminated inside my chest and I have absolutely no idea why. I’ve got to find out why. Rowan wouldn’t like it very much at all but right now, in this moment, I don’t care. He left, left, left and I’m here alone and Harry exists too and I’m going to find out why. 

I walk inside and I’m immediately drawn to his presence. I feel it from across the room. A tug, a slight pull in his direction. He looks up and sees me, instantly smiling and heading towards me. 

“Who would’ve thought I’d see you here? Of all places? What a surprise.” He says once he gets in front of me. He’s slightly smirking, leaning against the wall, all long limbs and cool demeanor. 

“I know, I’m just as surprised as you are. Let me get my coffee and we can sit down, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t want to sit anywhere else.” I hide my smile, heading towards the counter. I get my usual drink and sit down at my usual table, Harry across from me smiling the whole time. He looks just as handsome as always with nothing but a white button up open at the top, revealing his chest tattoos. The sleeves are rolled up as well, showcasing the art on his arms. Black jeans and black boots and all the curls. Simple and intricate all at once. His eyes make me almost uncomfortable, never faltering, never wavering from mine. He’s intimidating in the best way possible. Brows furrowed and lips set in a pout, he asks, “So, I see my number never made its way to your phone.” The pout almost makes my head spin.

“No, unfortunately it didn’t. I wanted to ask for it again.” I dramatically bat my eyelashes and he returns it with a laugh.

“I’m not sure if I should give it to you, honestly. You might lose it again. I’m not one to give second chances.” He’s just as arrogant and sarcastic as I am. We bounce off of each other seamlessly.

“Oh that’s no problem, I’ll just give you mine and then there’s no need for second chances.” He leans back in his chair and shakes his head.

“Cherry darling, you’re too much. The persistence is flattering.” I roll my eyes while he chuckles to himself. 

“I mean, listen, if you don’t want it, we can end our little coffee rendezvous here.” He leans forward almost too quickly.

“Of course I want it. When am I ever gonna get the chance to get to know the mysterious Chloe, widely known as Cherry, without it?” His lips turn up in a half smile, taunting me. I write it down and slide him the napkin. He neatly folds it and puts it in his back pocket.

Getting up and gathering my things, I say “Maybe you’ll never get to know me. Some secrets are better left as secrets. I’ll hear from you soon I’m sure. Bye Harry.” I walk off, cheeks heating up and my heart is racing. What was that? Who did I just become while sitting at that table? I don’t flirt, I don’t talk to anyone anymore. The girl at that table was not the girl that’s getting in her car and tying off for a shot before work. She doesn’t say those things or do those things. But something about Harry and his British accent and curly hair and his fucking dimple does something inside me that I can’t explain. I absolutely hate it and I absolutely love it and I’m chaotic and uncertain. But I do know I’ve got to hit this vein before work starts or I’ll never make it through the day. 

Being a bartender sucks. It has its moments when it’s fun and exciting, but overall it’s stressful and hectic and most of the time I’m moving too fast for my brain to even register a thought outside of the drinks and the customers and the money getting tossed around. I work at a shitty dive bar with gross old men and desperate old women begging for attention from anything that’s breathing in their direction. I’ve barely checked my phone and my shift ends in about twenty minutes. Thoughts of Harry’s sift in and out of my brain, wondering and hoping and dreading seeing his number on my phone. 

Walking to my car, I finally check and see if I have any new messages. None. Nothing. Disappointment and relief saunter back and forth in my chest. Rowan would be happy. Rowan wouldn’t want me to talk to him. Rowan knows what’s best for me. I probably shouldn’t talk to Harry anyways. I’m a fuck up, a grade A piece of shit. No one should ever talk to me, and they wouldn’t if they saw the scars left on my heart and the track marks scattered up my arms and the incessant chatter in my head. Driving home, I listen to music and try to ignore the wild thoughts I’m having about wild curls and wild half smiles and wild green eyes. 

I’m high again. I’m laying in bed, staring at my ceiling. Rowan isn’t here. He hasn’t said hello all day. He’s angry at me. He’s punishing me. I deserve it.

4am, my phone vibrates. A text.  
Unknown: Darling Cherry.

Me: I’m going to assume this is Harry. I’m surprised it took you this long.

Unknown: If you think I haven’t been all consumed by the thought of you, you’re sadly mistaken. I was just trying to play hard to get. Did it work?

Me: Slightly. Only because you’re so impatient I thought you might’ve lost the napkin.

Harry: I’m not as careless as you are. Let me take you out.

Me: Straight to the point. Admirable. And when would you like to do that?

Harry: I’m nothing if not blunt. Saturday night?

Me: I close the bar at 3am. Not a great time for a first date.

Harry: Date? Who said anything about a date? You’re jumping the gun, darling. But I’d love to take you out on a date since you’re so adamant about it.

Me: Funny. Maybe another time then? 

Harry: Oh no, 3am is perfect. I know a spot. I’ll pick you up. Send the address. 

I reply with the address and he doesn’t answer. I’m smiling and crying because Rowan is going to hate me. 

It’s Friday morning. I’m in the coffee shop but Harry isn’t here. I find myself scanning the room and unintentionally looking up every time the bell rings on the door. He never shows. I haven’t heard from him since last night. It’s been so long since I’ve spoke to anyone outside of work and Jules. She’s the closest thing I’d consider a friend, even though we only hangout once in a while and barely keep in touch. I don’t really have friends, or anyone at all. I subconsciously check my phone periodically throughout my morning, waiting and wishing for his name to pop up and simultaneously hoping it doesn’t. 

I want to get to know him. I want him to know me. I don’t know why or how but I do. I’m not sure I even know how to open up anymore. Rowan knew everything about me. Every crevice and dark corner of my soul. He poked and prodded through my mind and learned things about myself I’ve never spoken out loud. I don’t know how to expose myself like that anymore. It’s been two years since he left and no one has touched my mind or my body since. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be vulnerable with another person again. I’ve cocooned myself in a hard shell and I’ve never allowed anyone to even crack the surface, let alone break me open. 

But Harry has that magnetic force that drives me closer to him, pulling and pulling and pulling and maybe he’ll open me up again and maybe I won’t let him. 

10:43am  
Harry: I hope you’re enjoying your day, even though I’m absolutely certain you’re having a terrible time at Theresa’s without me to keep you company. 

Me: Don’t flatter yourself. I’m having an extraordinary time alone. 

Harry: Unlikely. But keep telling yourself that, love. 

Me: My book is company enough. You never answered my question from the other day. What do you do in the studio?

Harry: I sing. I write songs. I’m only telling you this cause I promised I would if you texted me and I’m a man of my word.

Harry: Even though I had to actually text you first.

Me: Semantics. Maybe one day you’ll sing for me. I hope you’re halfway decent, I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings with my honesty.

Harry: I’m more than decent darling. I’ll see you tomorrow. xx 

I’m smiling down at my phone like a fucking idiot. He’s an arrogant son of a bitch. He sings. I used to sing. I used to sing all the time. I would put on little shows for my family and sing Mariah Carey as loud as I could. My mother always used to tell me I’d be someone one day. She always said my voice sounded like a running river; flowing and melodic and beautiful. Rowan was the last person who’s ever heard me sing. He used to beg me to sing in the daisies. He’d write the songs and I’d sing to him and the birds and the clouds. He’d cry and tell me that I’m heartbreaking, my voice carrying enough emotion for both of us.

How ironic that the only one heartbroken was me.

I used to think I had a good voice. I used to love singing for people at parties or singing while I clean and cook. I used to play piano. My dad taught me when I was little. I couldn’t ever get enough. Playing piano was the most important thing in my life. Letting the words I couldn’t say out loud run through my fingers and onto the keys. I had something to say back then. Now there’s nothing left in me. I haven’t played since I was 15. The parties got more intense and the drugs got stronger and my fingers didn’t move the way I wanted them to anymore. I also didn’t really give a fuck about the piano when there were so many new and exciting ways to have fun once I got into high school. Sex and drugs consumed me and I didn’t have any stories to tell with my hands anymore. I still sang though. I never thought there would come a day where I stopped. 

I haven’t sang a single word since Rowan died. I don’t have any music left in me. He took it away with him and gave it to the birds and the rivers. 

If I’m being honest with myself, and I usually never am, getting high took away the music, too. It used to be fun. It was never supposed to end up like this. It was never supposed to end up with a dead Rowan and my empty carcass of a soul. I don’t know why I’m thinking about this. I shouldn’t think about it. I should get high. I’m starting to yawn again. 

I’m sitting on my couch, watching tv and snuggling with Baby. I have work soon. I don’t want to go. I want to lay here forever and think about Harry and think about Rowan and cry and get high and never leave my house. I haven’t eaten all day and I need to. I grab a bowl of cereal and force myself to finish it even though I have no appetite. Drugs do that to you. They make everything else seem unimportant. 

3:05pm  
Me: I’m curious about what spot you’re taking me to at 3am tomorrow. Sounds sketchy.

Harry: Don’t be nervous. I know I’m intimidating but I promise it’s not sketchy. Well, maybe just a little. 

Me: Again, don’t flatter yourself. You couldn’t make me nervous even if you tried. I’m more concerned about the place this “date” is going to be at. How do I know it’s safe? 

Harry: I’m offended. You think I can’t protect you? Darling, you have no idea what I can do. 

Me: I’d love to find out. 

Harry: I’m sure you will. 

Me: I’m stopping at Theresa’s before work tonight. Maybe I’ll get lucky and see you there. 

Harry: Unfortunately not, love. At the studio. xx 

My breath catches in my throat. That was bold. I’m being very bold. Rowan wouldn’t like that. He’d say I sound like a slut. He’d say I’m disgusting and desperate and borderline pathetic. 

But I am desperate. I need someone, anyone to talk to. Two years is a long time to spend alone with nothing but my cat and my dope and my coffee shop. 

Begrudgingly, I eventually start to get ready for work. 

I stop at the shop even though I really only wanted to see Harry before I went in for my shift. He’s the only exciting thing to happen to me in so long, I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to be easy going and relaxed. I’m sure he does this all the time; meeting women and getting to know people. I can’t believe I have the capacity to be light hearted and playful in our text messages, even in person. It’s like he brings out a part of me I thought I killed a long time ago. 

Jules is behind the counter when I get there, a smirk plastered on her face. I furrow my brows and tilt my head in question. 

“You’re coffee’s been paid for already, and I was told to give you this along with it.” She hands me my drink and a little note written on a napkin.

Since napkins seem to be our thing, it was only fitting to write on this. Enjoy your coffee and have a wonderful night at work. I’ll be anxiously awaiting tomorrow night. I’m excited to get to know you, Cherry. xx -H 

I don’t think anyone has ever done that for me before. Jules is staring at me and I just keep reading the note over and over again. Rowan never wrote me notes. He wrote me songs. Is that the same thing? 

I don’t say a single word to Jules and just walk out the door, completely shocked that just happened. 

Once outside, the setting sun basking everything in an orange tint, I sit down on the curb clutching the note and light a cigarette. Why’d he do that for me? I thought he said he would be at the studio all day. Should I text him? Do I acknowledge it? I don’t know how to act and I don’t know what to do and I’m sure Rowan is even more disgusted than he was earlier. I’m blushing and smiling and I feel sick to my stomach that I’m blushing and smiling over someone that isn’t Rowan. 

I shove the note in my bag and get high again, cause what else is there to do? 

I’m sitting in my car, about to go in for my shift, when I decide to text him.

6:48  
Me: Thanks for the coffee. Very chivalrous of you. The note was nice, too. 

I throw my phone back in my bag and do one more shot before it’s time to go inside. 

I lean back and let the drug go through my veins, feeling the cool sensation as it makes it’s way down every finger and every toe; up my neck and into my throat where I can taste it drip, drip, drip. 

I fleetingly think, I wonder what Harry would say if knew about this, before I black out.


	4. Chapter 4

Four

5 Missed calls:

7:10pm — Work  
7:45pm — Work  
8:24pm — Work  
8:55pm — Work  
9:21pm — Work 

I wake up in a panic. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s been years since I’ve done this. I fell out. It’s 9:49pm. I’m exactly two hours and forty nine minutes late for my shift. My boss is gonna kill me. 5 missed calls and 7 missed texts. There’s dried up drool sticking to my face. I can’t feel my arms. I’m in the parking lot and looking in the mirror, I look like I just fell out. I look like a fucking junkie that just fell out. Fuck fuck fuck.

I pull myself together and run inside. Panicked and slightly dazed. My coworkers are staring at me and I head directly into the office. It’s been so long since I’ve pulled some shit like this. But they know. They know I get high. They don’t talk about it, but they know. I’m so fucked. 

I’m suspended for a week. I get sent home. 

I get high again. Gotta calm my nerves.

I walk in my house, angry at myself and angry at everyone else too. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I keep it together? I keep ruining things and I don’t know how to be better. I don’t even deserve to be better. I deserve to crumble and let my ashes float away in the breeze. Dancing, dancing, dancing in the sky. Float all the way up to the clouds. I don’t even drop my bag on the floor. I just turn around and walk right back out the door. 

I go to the daisies. It’s dark outside. I don’t normally come here at night. I’m laying in the flowers, the moon shining bright above me, illuminating the world in pale blue light. It’s peaceful at night here. Quiet. My ears are ringing with the silence, I can hear the river running about a mile away. I never hear it during the day. She’s asleep when the sun comes out but sings to the moon. She’s singing with the music Rowan took from me and gave to her. 

I just lay here and cry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I wish I didn’t start getting high but I can’t stop now. I can’t imagine my life without it. I don’t know how to do anything else anymore. I gave away the music in my hands and Rowan took away the music in my heart and replaced it with darkness and despair and anger and everything terrible in the world and shoved it into a tiny wax bag. 

I’ve tried to stop before. A few times, actually. It never lasted more than a week. I was so miserable and sick the whole time, I barely remember it. Rowan tried to take care of me but he was too sick himself to worry about me. It’s been 10 years. It wasn’t always heroin. I started small and gradually made my way to the heavy stuff. Rowan showed me everything. I met him when I was 18. He was 21. I was already popping pills and snorting more coke than any normal person should. He gave me my first bag of dope. He said it would be so much better. He shot me up for the first time not long after that. And I never went back. I’ll never forget that first time. I felt like the universe kissed me on the lips. I felt like I was on fire in the best way possible. I felt like every sense in my body was intensified. We made love for hours afterwards, every touch and every breath meaning more to me and feeling better than anything else I’ve ever experienced. That was the only time I’ve ever felt that good. The second time wasn’t as beautiful. None of them were. I was always chasing that first high, and I’ve learned now that I’ll never reach that again. But now I’m too far gone. Now it’s too hard to stop. The sickness feels like dying. I don’t want to feel like I’m dying. I don’t want to die. I don’t think I do, anyways. Sometimes I do. I’m chaotic and uncertain and I don’t know if I want to live or die or exist or sleep.

Laying here in the dark reminds me of him more than ever. He left me here in the dark on that last day. The night time daisies have stories about me that I don’t like to hear. They remember that night and try to remind me. I want to forget. I wish someone could open up my skull and pluck that night out of my brain so I’ll never remember it again. I don’t want to think about this right now. I don’t want to remember what Rowan looked like, lying in the daisies without a single breath left in him. A shot will help quiet the daisies. I’m sure of it.

It’s been four hours. It’s 3am. I’m still laying in the daisies, watching the stars and the moon talk to each other. At the place that belongs to Rowan, I’m still thinking about Harry. I wonder what he’s doing. I wonder what he would say if he knew. Would he mind? Would he run the opposite direction? I couldn’t take the chance. I want to get to know him. If he found out I’m a junkie he might be just as disgusted with me as I am with myself. Some secrets are better left as secrets. 

I walk into my apartment. It’s 4am. Baby is hungry. I feed her. I go through the motions but feel nothing. My mind is blank. 

I take a shower and sit down on the floor, letting the water roll down my back and wash away all the depression filling up my soul. I don’t want to be sad anymore. I don’t want to be angry anymore. 

I beg God to take it away. I cry and beg him, out loud, to take away my sadness and make me better again. He never listens to me. I’m not important enough for God to listen to. God doesn’t listen to the broken people that keep breaking themselves. 

But I keep asking. Maybe one day He will.

I wake up in the morning. Now I have nothing to do since I can’t go to work. Well, besides meeting Harry at 3am. I roll over and scratch Baby’s head, finalizing the decision in my head that I’m not going to see Harry tonight. 

2:32pm

Harry: Are you excited for our date later? You should be. 

I don’t respond. I don’t have anything left to say. 

He seems like a good guy. A genuine, nice human being. I’m not. I’m not a genuine, nice human being. I ruin things and I can’t get to know Harry because I’ll ruin him, too. Everything I touch turns to dust. I don’t want him to turn into dust, too. 

I lay on my couch and sleep, sleep, sleep. 

My dreams are foggy. Nothing really makes sense. I see green eyes and blue eyes and birds and clouds and smirks and curls and waves and rivers. 

8:22pm

Harry: Have fun at work. Can’t wait for later. xx 

I’m still sleeping. I still don’t respond. 

12:55pm

Harry: I haven’t heard from you. I hope you haven’t chickened out xx 

I’m awake and high and staring at the wall. I’m not going. I can’t go. He’s too good and I’m too messed up and it’s not fair. It’s not fair for me and it’s not fair for him and the whole thing is a big mess. He’ll be sitting there, happy and easy going and patient while I have a needle stuck in my arm in the bathroom and try to act natural. He’ll try to save me and I don’t want to be saved. I want him to save me and I don’t want him to save me and I just want someone, just any fucking person in the world to save me but I’m too lost and too messed up and too fucking broken to be saved. I’m scattered in a million pieces and I’ll never be put back together again because some of the pieces are in the clouds with Rowan and some of the pieces are in the piano keys and some of the pieces are in the river with the rest of my voice. 

2:43am

Harry: I’m here love. Take your time, I’ll be waiting. xx

I’m still sitting on my couch, still staring at the wall. 

Rowan would be so proud of me.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s 3:15am. Harry has called me twice and texted three times. I haven’t responded.

I don’t even feel bad. I don’t feel anything. 

I fall asleep thinking about nothing, nothing, nothing except a dimple on a left cheek. 

4:58am  
Harry: I usually wouldn’t mind waiting for you if I knew you were still closing. But everyone’s gone and you never came. So I’m guessing I just got stood up. I hope you’re okay if that’s not the case. xx 

I see that text message at 10:04am when I wake up. I groan and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I’m so angry at myself that I didn’t go last night. I’m also so proud of myself that I didn’t go last night. I just can’t get Harry out of my fucking head. I’m not sure if I should respond or not, so I don’t. Maybe once I get high I’ll figure it out. 

I haven’t been going to Theresa’s at my usual times. Ever since meeting Harry, I’ve been all out of wack. My schedule is messed up because my emotions are messed up. I woke up later than I usually do. I throw on my usual attire; baggy button up with black jeans and boots. I kiss Baby goodbye and head downtown to get my coffee fix. 

Jules is there. She tries to ask me where I’ve been but I don’t really answer her. I don’t want to see Harry but at the same time I do. I have no idea what I’ll say to him if he shows up here. I’m not sure how I’ll react if he calls me out on standing him up. 

To avoid seeing him, I sit down in the alleyway and read my book there. Hopefully he won’t see me if he does show up. 

He shows up. He sees me. Of course he fucking sees me. 

“Cherry. Is everything okay? You didn’t come out of your job last night and I waited for a while. Everything alright?” I look up from my book and he’s standing over me. I stare at him for a few minutes before I answer, my thoughts literally blanking.

“No, I’m fine. Had other plans, sorry.” I look back down at my book and I can feel in the air how absolutely shocked he is.

“Oh, um okay.. maybe another time then love?” Without looking up, I give him my most monotone reply I can muster.

“Probably not. Enjoy your day Harry.” 

“No worries. Enjoy yours too, Cherry.” He walks away without another word. How can he still be so fucking nice? I’m trying to be mean, I’m trying to seem uninterested and unimpressed. I just don’t understand how he’s so calm and polite all the fucking time. I wish I could be like that. 

I was never really calm or polite. I was a hurricane, a tsunami raging through and flooding everything in my path even before I touched a single drug. I was never quiet. I was never a gentle breeze. I was always a tornado.

Now I’m nothing. I’m not a tornado or a tsunami or anything at all. I’m the still, silent air after a rainstorm. Heavy and thick and unmoving and empty. 

Harry is the breeze off of the ocean. 

I don’t deserve that. 

After a few hours of sitting in the alley, I go inside and get one more coffee, heading to my table to finish up the book I’m reading.

Taped to the top of the table is a fucking napkin. 

Cherry darling. I’m too pretentious to believe you didn’t want to go out with me. I’m almost positive that’s not the case. Regardless of what’s going on with you, I still want to get to know you. Please let me? - H

This has got to be a fucking joke.

I’m sitting in my living room, holding the napkin. I’m more high than I should be, but I had to get rid of these feelings. I’m regretting things. I’m regretting ignoring Harry the other night. I’m all over the place. I don’t know what to think or feel. He’s intoxicating. I couldn’t tell you a single fucking thing about the kid but I need to know more, more, more. I want to know everything and nothing at the same time. 

It’s 2:31 in the morning. I’m too high. I can’t think straight. I wonder what Harry’s doing. I wonder if he thinks about me sometimes. I want to hear his voice. I love his voice. His voice reminds me of smoke. Heavy and light at the same time, flowing in and out and enveloping me completely. Making me unable to pay attention to anything else. I wonder what he’s thinking about right now. 

I pick up my phone and call him, because why not? I don’t think he’d mind. He said he wants to know me. I hope he isn’t angry at me.

He answers after the second ring.

“Cherry. I didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon.” He speaks slow and with so much purpose; like everything he says is important. 

“Hi Harry.” I’m smiling like a little fucking girl. I can’t help it. 

“What have I done to deserve this lovely phone call this late?” 

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about you. Are you thinking about me, too?” I’m slurring my words but it’s okay. He doesn’t mind. Harry doesn’t mind anything.

“Are you drinking, Cherry? You sound like you are.” His tone is concerned but I don’t care. All I can pay attention to is how beautiful his voice is.

“No no, I don’t drink. I wish I did. Sometimes I do. I like when you say my name. But you didn’t answer the question, Harry. Are you thinking about me, too?” 

“Yes, Cherry. I’m thinking about you. Are you okay? Where are you?” 

“I’m home. I don’t want to be home anymore, though. Do you want to see me? I want to see you.” 

“I always want to see you, darling. But I don’t think this is a good time. You don’t sound like you’re up for it.” 

“That’s not true, I’m always up for everything. Anything. I want to see you, Harry. Don’t you want to see me, too? Your napkin said you wanted to see me.” I’m whining now. I don’t know why I’m so adamant about this, I just am. I want to be around him and forget why I’m so sad. 

He pauses for a long minute before he answers. 

“Alright Cherry. How about you send me your address and I’ll come pick you up. Are you sure you aren’t drunk? I don’t want you to be around me just because you’re intoxicated.” 

“I promise Harry, I’m not drunk. I’ll see you soon. I’m really excited to spend time with you.” I hang up and immediately send him my address. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I really am excited to spend time with him but I’m definitely a little too fucked up right now. I’m hoping I’ll level out before he gets here.

Twenty minutes later, he texts me and says he’s downstairs. I grab my bag and stumble out the door. He’s sitting in an all black Range Rover, which is oddly intimidating. I struggle with opening the door and getting inside. His stare is intense as he watches me clumsily get into the passenger seat. 

“Hi Harry.” I giggle and throw my hand up to my mouth, leaning my head back against the seat and shutting my eyes. He doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything. I vaguely realize I don’t have a long sleeve shirt on. I’m wearing a baggy t-shirt which reveals all of the scars and track marks littering my arms. Luckily it’s too dark for him to notice. If he does, I don’t think I care too much right now.

“Hi Cherry. You okay?” Concern is plastered all over his face, his brow furrowed as he’s intently staring at me. I can’t even look at him, his eyes are so piercing and I’m sure I’ll end up spilling all of my secrets with one look from him.

“I’m great. Even better now that I’m here. Where are we going? Take me anywhere.” His smell envelopes my nose, sweet and salty and the most beautiful smell I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know how to explain it. I’d do anything to be able to nuzzle my head in his neck and just breath him in.

He puts the car in drive and starts heading down the street. 

“I have a spot. I like to go here in the middle of the night. It’s peaceful.”

“I have a spot too. It’s my favorite. I go there almost everyday.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s yours?” 

“I’ll never tell. It’s a spot only for me.” 

“Well, maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to get a glimpse.” He’s laughing a little which makes me look over at him. He’s staring straight ahead and I can see the dimple poking out of his cheek. That god forsaken fucking dimple. 

I roll my window down and ask him for the aux cord. I play The Chain by Fleetwood Mac and just enjoy the wind in my hair and the music pulsing around me. I’m still really high but I feel so good, so so good. I wonder if Harry feels good too. I want to make him feel as good as I do.

He’s stealing glances at me while I’m singing along, my feet propped up on the dashboard barefoot and swaying to the music. 

“I’ve never seen you so relaxed. It’s refreshing. Play another one.” I keep playing my favorites one after the other, allowing myself to let loose and just enjoy the late night drive. We barely talk the whole way, but it’s comfortable. There’s no awkward tension or lull in conversation. 

I’m watching the street lights wiz past me, and eventually we pull off road. He continues down a dirt path with trees surrounding us until we get to the edge of a cliff. We both get out of the car, he tries to come over and open my door for me but I’m too quick and didn’t realize what he was doing. He watches me basically fall out of the car while I’m laughing and stumbling around. He puts a hand on my elbow to steady me, almost causing me to yank my arm back. I wasn’t expecting his touch on my bare skin and it was so gentle, so soft and innocent. He guides me over to the edge and we sit on the ground, our legs hanging over. There’s water underneath us, the stars glistening in the reflection. It’s beautiful, really. Calm and serene. The air is cool and light, silent expect for the small waves crashing on the shore.

“I can see why this is your spot. It’s really beautiful.” 

“It is. I started coming here a couple years ago. I actually stumbled upon it and felt such a connection here I couldn’t stop coming. I don’t know what it is but I love it. Gives me a lot of inspiration on days I’m feeling stuck.” 

“Mmmm, I know what you mean. That’s how my spot is for me too.” I lay on my back and he follows suit. We’re just laying next to each other and watching the stars.

“Why’d you call me? You didn’t seem too interested the other day.” 

“I’m not sure. I just couldn’t get you out of my head and I wanted to be close to you.” 

“I hope my note helped.”

“Oh it did. Very sweet. I love the notes.” 

“Noted. I’ll keep that in mind.” I laugh and scoot slightly closer to him. Eventually we start talking. I ask him about his family and why he came to LA. He tells me his story and how he got into music. I keep my eyes closed the whole time, listening to his voice. It’s so soothing and I can’t explain it but laying here with him feels so normal even though it’s the most abnormal fucking thing I’ve done in three years. It’s so easy to talk to him. He’s playful and funny, making jokes and keeping the conversation interesting. My high is slowly wearing off, which I’m grateful for since now I’m able to actually listen and participate in conversation. Finally, he asks me about my family.

“I don’t have much to say about them. They aren’t around. I’m on my own.” 

“Is there a reason you don’t talk to them? I don’t want to pry so feel free to tell me to fuck off.” I laugh and shake my head.

“No it’s okay. There’s a lot of reasons, none that I’d like to discuss right now. I’m enjoying this too much to ruin it by crying.” His hand is resting on his stomach, and slowly, so so slowly, he reaches over and lightly runs his fingers over my hand. My throat tightens and it’s been so long since a man has touched me so softly and intimately I don’t know how to react. My muscles tense and I just let him continue to run his fingers along my hand and up my arm, sending shivers down my spine. I don’t want him to stop. I don’t know why everything he does has such an effect on me. Eventually he wraps his fingers through mine. I don’t move, I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to do. Is Rowan watching? Fuck. I’m breathing heavier and faster now, thinking about Rowan and thinking about Harry and how badly I want Harry to touch me more, more, more. His hands are long and strong and soft. He rubs circles with his thumb as I continue to just keep my eyes shut and stare at the sky. 

“That’s nice Harry.” I mumble. 

“What’s nice?” 

“The touching. I haven’t been touched in a long time.” It takes a minute for him to answer.

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know really. Never wanted to be. But I’m liking this, now. I like when you touch me.” He rolls on his side, I can feel him staring at me. With every ounce of strength I have, I turn my head and meet his gaze. 

“I’ll touch you as much as you’d like me to.” There’s a hint of something more in his voice, and it makes me almost weak in the knees. His hand starts to travel back up my arm, cupping my neck while he continues to stare at me. His eyes are so difficult to break contact with. They suck you in and keep you there until you’re dizzy and can’t breath properly. His hand on my neck makes me shaky, especially since he’s running his fingers down the nape of my neck so slightly I can barely feel it. I shut my eyes and just enjoy this feeling because I know it’s not going to happen again. 

His thumb traces my jawline and ends up on my bottom lip. My eyes snap open and stare at him, wondering what he’s doing and why it feels so absolutely wonderful. He’s running his thumb across my bottom lip, tracing it, just staring at me the whole time.

“You’re so beautiful, it drives me crazy.” He whispers. I could barely hear him, I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t so quiet here. My lips turn in a slight smile. His voice is so deep and raspy, it’s one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever heard.

“So are you.” I don’t know what else to say. He takes his hand away and rolls on his back, looking up at the sky. We lay like that for a long time, what feels like hours. I’m missing the feeling of his hands on my skin, but we just keep talking and enjoying each other’s company. It feels strange to act this normal with someone. It’s been so long since I’ve openly talked about my life with anyone, and it’s been especially long since I’ve actually laughed and smiled and had fun without getting high in the process. 

After a while, the conversation became stagnant and we just laid there in silence. I started to get sad for some reason. I don’t know why. Just being here with him made me feel so good and I know I don’t deserve it. Especially since getting high will always be my number one priority and I don’t think Harry would be okay with that. Most people aren’t.

“I’m so fucking lonely, Harry.” I breath out. I don’t know why I said it. 

“I can tell. It’s kinda hard to get to know people when you just shut everyone out. Look how hard I had to try to get your attention.” He playfully laughs, trying to lighten the mood. 

“I know, and you’re right. But I can’t help it. I’ve had some fucked up shit happen to me and I don’t know how to let people in.” 

“Will you let me try? Will you let me try to get to know more about you? I’ll be patient, I promise.” I can hear the smile in his voice. He sounds sincere. Actually, I know he’s being sincere. He doesn’t seem like someone who would lie just for the sake of lying.

“I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how.” I whisper.

“Don’t worry about that right now, love. Just share whatever you feel like sharing. I’ll always be listening.” 

“I’ve told you more about myself tonight than I have with anyone in so long.” 

“And I love all of it. Even though you were being a bit vague the whole time” I playfully smacked his chest, laughing quietly.

“Hey, I’m doing my best! You’re just an open book, how can I compete with that? Besides, I can’t tell you all my secrets. You’d never speak to me again if you knew.” 

“Oh darling, I highly doubt that. I’m sure I’ve done just as much fucked up shit as you.” 

“Harry, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” I look over at him, a smirk toying at my lips.

“I’d love to find out.” He smiles, his eyes glistening under the moonlight. For some reason, I rest my head on his shoulder. His arm lifts and he lets me crawl into his side. He puts his arm around me and lays it on my shoulder, his other hand grabbing mine. We lay like that for a long time, just laughing and talking about absolutely nothing. 

Finally, the sun starts to rise. I’m yawning again and I know that’s my cue to leave. I can’t allow myself to be sick in front of him or else he’d definitely know something was wrong with me.

“Harry, can you take me home? I’m getting sleepy.” 

“Of course. Come on.” We get up and get in the car. While he’s driving, he has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on my leg, his thumb rubbing lazy circles. I can’t stop smiling even though I’m very well aware that this won’t last. Not even for a second. But honestly in this moment, I don’t care. 

We pull up to my complex and he parks. I start to get out and he grabs my hand.

“I had more fun with you tonight than I’ve had with anyone in a very long time. Thanks for calling me. Hopefully I’ll hear from you soon.” He brings my hand up to his lips, lightly brushing them against my knuckles. I’m at a loss for words, so I just nod my head and get out. 

Once I’m in my apartment, I shut the door and head straight to my stash. After I get high, I lay in bed, completely shocked that all of that just happened.

Before I know it, I’m crying. I’m so attached to this boy for absolutely no reason and he’s going to run the other way when he finds out my form of fun is a needle in my arm. 

I fall asleep dreaming of him and the stars and the water lapping on the shore, wondering, wondering, wondering if my life is ever going to get better, or if I’ll ruin Harry just like I ruined Rowan, just like I ruin everything good in the world. 

Just like I’ve ruined myself.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke up with the hint of a smile on my face, a text message from Harry, and feeling absolutely miserable. Before I check my phone, I make myself better again.

12:57pm  
Harry: Good morning darling. I hope you have a wonderful day & I’d love to hear from you later if you have some free time xx 

There’s a ghost of a smile on my lips, remembering last night with him. If I’m being honest, I don’t remember all of it. The beginning is a little foggy. I just remember talking about his life and the water lapping against the shore and the stars illuminating the sky. And feeling a little peaceful. Yeah, I definitely remember feeling a little peaceful.

He also called me beautiful.

Am I beautiful? 

The track marks up my arm tell me I’m not.

After getting myself together and feeding Baby, I decide to text him back.

2:08pm  
Me: Theresa’s?

Harry: I won’t be able to make it. On a roll in the studio. But your coffee has already been taken care of ;) 

I roll my eyes. Of course it has been. Harry is a fucking angel and I can’t believe there’s a person in the world that’s this nice. I’ve never experienced this before. Even though Rowan was always nice to me, he never did stuff like that. Well, he wrote me songs. Does that count? 

After going to Theresa’s and picking up the coffee Harry paid for, I head out to the daisies. 

I don’t know how I’m feeling today. Being with Harry last night was exhilarating. Everything about that boy is perfect. He’s breakfast on a Sunday morning and the sun shining on the beach and the piano keys telling you a story. 

I’m none of those things. 

I’m all the flowers in the garden dying.

I’m the unrelenting rain against the soft ground, drowning the grass.

I’m the girl with an empty soul and empty feelings and too many feelings with nothing but poison flowing through her veins. 

I wonder how long it’ll take him to realize that. 

I feel the daisies underneath me. There’s an imprint left from my body weight. To my right, there’s the ghost of an indent left from Rowan. It’s barely there and you wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t know where to look. But I see it. The daisies stay bowed for him, remembering and giving their condolences. The sun is lathering my skin, making me feel alive, alive, alive. The subtle wind blows through my hair while I toy with the idea of calling Harry, just to see what he’s doing. I’m clicking on his name in my contacts without a second thought.

“Cherry, how are you?” 

“I’m good Harry, how are you?”

“Much better now that I’m hearing your voice. Did you enjoy yourself last night?” I’m smiling into the phone while I answer, picking at the daisies next to me.

“Yes I did. I’m sorry for calling so late, by the way. But I did really enjoy myself. You’re really easy to talk to.”

“Oh don’t worry about that love, I’m glad I picked up. I’d say thank you, but you didn’t talk too much.” He laughs into the receiver and I can almost see his dimple poking through.

“Shut up, I told you I’m doing my best. You should feel honored to have even gotten a call from me, let alone a second one.” 

“I definitely do, darling. What’re your plans for today?” 

“I don’t have any. I’m at my spot right now, you know, the one I told you about. But then nothing. I’m off work so I’ll probably just go home and cuddle with my cat.” 

“You have a cat? I cannot believe you’ve withheld this information! What’s it’s name?”

“She’s a girl and Baby.” 

“Woah, Cherry I’m flattered but I think it’s too early on to call each other ‘baby’ don’t you think?” I can hear his sarcastic smirk through his voice.

“Harry I’m not gonna lie, that joke sucked.” 

“It’s alright, they can’t all be great. Baby’s a cute name, super original.” 

“Ha ha. I wasn’t completely sober when I named her and it just stuck. Me and my boyfriend laughed about how stupid it was for days afterwards and I refused to change it.” 

“Boyfriend? As in, current?” 

My throat tightened and I felt like I was choking. I didn’t respond. I don’t know what to say.

“Cherry? Are you there?” 

“Yeah I’m here. Sorry. No, not current. Ex.. Ex-boyfriend” My voice was shaky and I was nervous. I don’t like talking about Rowan. I feel like I’m betraying him by referring to him as my ex. I think this might be the first time I’ve ever said that, to be honest. 

“Oh thank God. I thought I was being a home wrecker.”

“We haven’t even went on a date yet!” I laugh.

“Well, yeah I guess you’re right. But my intentions are definitely not fit for someone who has a boyfriend.” 

“Oh really? And what intentions are those, Harry?” 

“Didn’t you once tell me that some secrets are better left as secrets?”

“Using my own words against me now. That’s dirty.” 

“I can be much dirtier.” 

“I’m sure you can be. But don’t underestimate me, so can I. Also, before I forget, I don’t even know your last name.” 

“That’s embarrassing. Can’t believe you let some man pick you up in the middle of the night and you don’t even know his last name.” He scolds me. Talking to him like this is so relaxing and playful. It’s scary and a little exciting.

“I can’t believe you picked some random girl up in the middle of the night without knowing her last name.” 

“You can’t be talking about me because I do know your last name. It’s Salerno.”

“Wow, are you stalking me now? That’s quite creepy.” 

“Nah, I just asked Jules.” 

“I’m appalled that she would give out that classified information! So now that you know mine, what’s yours?” 

“Styles.” 

“That’s a bold face lie.” 

“No it’s not, it’s really Styles. Harry Edward Styles to be exact.” 

“Not Harold?”

“Nope, just Harry.” 

“I’m so glad we got to know each other on such a deep level, Harry Edward Styles.”

“Likewise, Chloe...?”

“Theresa.”

“Chloe Theresa Salerno. Ironic that your favorite coffee shop is your middle name.” 

“I know! I always thought that was funny.” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily say that’s funny.” He’s laughing now and I’m laughing and it’s really not that funny but I’m actually in full blown hysterics right now. I haven’t laughed this hard in years.

“Okay Cherry, that wasn’t that funny either.” He’s still laughing as he’s making fun of me and I have literal tears in my eyes.

“Okay okay you’re right it wasn’t that funny. I just needed a good laugh, I think.” 

“I’m glad I could be of service. Unfortunately I have to get back to work. I’m needed in the recording booth. I hope I hear from you soon, Chloe Theresa.” 

“Ew, don’t make a habit of calling me by my first and middle name. But okay Harry Edward, have a good day. Maybe I’ll call you later.” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

I hang up the phone feeling like my chest is going to explode. I can’t remember the last time a conversation with someone has flowed so effortlessly. All my conversations with Harry are like that. I don’t even have to try. It reminds me of when I first met Rowan, before things got bad. It was like that with him, too. I could just easily talk about whatever was on my mind without feeling awkward or uncomfortable. I still have a smile on my face long after we’ve hung up. I’m fighting the urge to text him. I don’t want to seem clingy but I also want to keep talking, talking, talking until I forget that I’m sad. 

After a few hours of laying around, I decide to do something a little out of the norm for me.

I decide to go to a restaurant.

I can’t remember the last time I went out to eat. I think it was when Jules begged me to go to some Mexican place serving 2$ tacos and margarita buckets about 5 months ago. 

While I’m on my way to a little Japanese place that Rowan used to take me to, I listen to some music and revel in the good mood I’m feeling. I know I’ve had good days in the past couple of years, but today feels different than that. I’m better than “good”. I’m almost happy.

Almost. 

I’m sitting at the table and enjoying the sushi I’ve ordered. I can’t get Harry out of my fucking head. I know this is stupid, I absolutely know how tumultuous this is going to turn out. I can picture it now. I’m going to get attached, he’s going to see my track marks, and he’s going to leave. Simple as that. It’s just been so long, so goddamn long since I’ve had butterflies in my stomach, I don’t think I can ignore them. They’re loud and relentless. I thought all the butterflies withered away and died with Rowan. But new ones have cracked through their cocoons and are swarming me every time I think of those green eyes and that raspy voice and that traitorous dimple and those long, soft hands roaming around on my skin. Touching, touching, touching. I wonder if his hands can feel the jagged edges of my broken pieces, sharp and iridescent when the light touches them. I wonder if his hands will be able to feel the holes in my arms and the scarred remains of veins I’ve blown out and the bruises I’ve left from too many needles going in them. 

I’ve never wanted anyone’s hands on my body this bad before.

Except Rowan’s.

Rowan was all rough and coarse edges. Harry is soft and sharp. They’re completely different in more ways than one.

I don’t think Harry would’ve ever given me heroin to try. 

I text him while I’m finishing up dinner.

7:48pm  
Me: Eating dinner alone is no fun. I should’ve invited you. 

Harry: Who says I would’ve accepted the invitation? 

Me: I’m a bit too pretentious to believe you wouldn’t want to go out with me. 

Harry: Using my own words against me. That’s dirty. 

Me: Theres nothing wrong with being a little dirty ;) 

Harry: That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said. And where is this boring, lonely dinner taking place? 

Me: Otomisan on 1st. 

Harry: I’m right down the street. See you in ten, love. 

My hearts drops to my stomach. I didn’t think he’d actually come. I kinda just wanted an excuse to talk to him, and now I’m going to be sitting across from him in a cheap Japanese restaurant, my nerves boiling over. 

I’m picking at my fingers and bouncing my leg, unable to stop myself from looking up at the door every five seconds. Finally, he saunters in, dripping in that easy confidence he always has. People look at him when he walks by. He doesn’t pay anyone any mind, but you can see the way heads automatically turn towards him whenever he’s in a room. He radiates importance, and it’s honestly intimidating and erotic all at once. 

He plops down at the table and cocks his head to the side.

“Well, don’t you look beautiful.” I feel my cheeks go instantly red and I put my head down to hide the smile that’s unfortunately plastered on my face.

“Stop, you’re embarrassing. How was work?” 

“It was really good actually. I’ve finally finished a few songs I’ve been working on for God knows how long. Got them all recorded, now just waiting to mix them.” 

“That’s good, I can’t wait to hear them! You told me your voice is ‘better than decent’ so you have big expectations to live up to.” 

“I would never disappoint you, love.” He winks while picking up the menu. “I’m proper starving. Tell me what to order.” 

“No, figure it out yourself. I already ate.” 

“No that’s not fair, you have to eat with me! I don’t like eating alone.” He peeks up at me over the top of the menu, his big doe eyes and his long black eyelashes giving me a pouty look and making my heart absolutely melt all over the table. Always melting around Harry. I wonder if he can see the blood. 

“Only because you’re so convincing. I’ll get whatever you’re getting. Surprise me.” 

The waiter comes over almost immediately. Harry orders a water and an array of sushi dishes, way too much for two people to eat. 

“Harold! What are you doing? I told you I already ate! You just ordered enough food to feed a small army!” 

“I couldn’t decide and you were absolutely useless so I just picked whatever sounded halfway decent.” I laugh and sip from my water, internally debating on if I should get a glass of wine. It’s been ages since I’ve drank. Usually, drinking and heroin don’t mix too well. Can’t feel the high when I’m drunk. But I’m enjoying his company so much and a glass of wine never hurt anyone. Normal people have wine with dinner right? I need to look normal. 

When the waiter reappears with his water, I order a glass of Merlot. Harry cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Getting drunk are we?” He looks over to the waiter, “Make it a bottle.” 

I almost choke on my water.

“A bottle?! I was gonna stop at one, maybe two.” 

“Looks like it’ll be more than two now.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“Not true, you invited me here.” 

“Only because I felt bad for you. I stood you up, remember?” 

“Don’t remind me. I’ve never been stood up before. Come to think of it, I should just walk out on my bill to repay you for the agony I felt when everyone left your job and little Cherry was no where to be found.” I reach my hand across the table and grab his.

“Harry I really am sorry about that. Had a lot going on, didn’t know what to say. Was kind of scared, to be honest.” 

“It’s fine darling, we’re here now and that was the goal wasn’t it? I was only taking this piss out of you. Don’t be so uptight.” He gives my hand a little squeeze and I yank it away in mock annoyance. 

“Remind me to never apologize for anything ever again.” I cross my arms and tilt my head, scrunching up my face to show my playful irritation.

“Oh Chloe I adore your apologies. Tell me again how much you regret it and how it’s been gnawing away at your conscious ever since that dreadful day.” 

“I’m insulted that you think my conscious was in any way affected by my lack of communication about our 3am date.” 

“It must’ve been heavy on your heart since you called me the next night begging to see me.” 

“I did not beg. I asked politely and you were more than happy to oblige.” 

“Of course I was. You’re full of mystery and down right stunning. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” 

“I don’t think I’m too mysterious.” 

“You know I’ve asked a few people about you at Theresa’s and the only one who knew even a little bit about you was Jules. No one else knew a single thing. ‘She likes to read and sits at the same table everyday. I’ve never even heard her talk’ that’s literally what every single person said about you.”

“I can’t believe you actually asked people about me! Was that before or after you rudely interrupted me while I was reading?” 

“Before and after. I saw you there a few times and you never even looked my way. Not once. Not even a glance, Cherry! God, I’m not arrogant but I’ve never been so thoroughly ignored by someone before. It’s like I wasn’t even there. I even tried to talk to you once, before the whole book debacle. And you looked at me and completely ignored me.” 

“Harry there is no way that’s true!” I’m laughing now. The waiter has already brought the wine and poured us both a glass. “I would’ve remembered you, I’m sure. What did you say?” 

“I asked you what you were reading. I saw the book in your hand and you were walking over to your table. You legitimately looked dead in my eyes and kept walking. I was so appalled and refused to accept that, so I asked around. No one else knew anything about you, so I made it my mission to get you to talk to me. And it worked.” 

“So that’s why you talked to me outside after I was a bit rude to you at the table.” 

“Yeah, and I realized you were a disgusting smoker who litters all over the place. Wrecking havoc in your city. Unacceptable, Chloe, honestly.” I’m shaking my head and giggling while he looks at me with such a light and beautiful smile, it takes my breath away. How can someone be this gorgeous? I sip my wine and stare at him over my glass. He’s funny and charming and devastatingly appealing in almost every single way imaginable. I can’t even believe a man like Harry would even look my way. 

“So, Harold, what do you write songs about?” 

The rest of the night is a flurry of laughter and red wine and winks and half smiles and cheeks flushing as dark as the wine staining our lips. I’m definitely drunk and I’ve learned more about Harry tonight than I have so far. He plays instruments and loves babies. He gets easily distracted by almost anything and shows so much excitement and passion about the smallest of things. He spent a whole ten minutes explaining to me why bananas are the superior fruit and another ten minutes going on and on about how it hurts his feelings that strawberry milk is always left out while all the other milks get discussed way more frequently. I’ve never in my entire life met a person like him before and one minute he’s making desire pool in my belly from a cheeky comment accented with a wink while the next minute I’m rolling my eyes and laughing because he’s going on another passion infused rant about the best types of cheese. It’s intoxicating and down right fun. Like, actual fun. He’s exciting and exuberant and I can’t get enough of it. I could listen to him rambling on about the poor treatment of cows for hours, never once getting bored of hearing his beautiful voice drone on and on. Everything he says sounds important and relevant no matter what the topic is, and I don’t think I could ever listen to anyone else in the world talk again except for Harry. 

“Cherry, I am drunk. Proper drunk. How many bottles have we have?” 

“Two, I think.” I’m giggling constantly. The wine is making me giggly. So is Harry. 

“How long have we been here?” I check my phone for the first time all night, the time reading 11:54pm. 

“Harry! It’s almost midnight! We have to go!” 

“You’re certifiably insane if you think I’m letting you drive home. I’m not driving either. I’m calling you an Uber.” 

“Hazzzza, won’t you come home with me? Oooh, Hazza! What a cute nickname! I didn’t mean to say it the first time but I love it! That’s officially your new nickname. Hazza Styles. Hazza Edward Styles, please come home with me?” 

“Cherry that’s a terrible idea. We’re both smashed. And the nickname is adorable.”

“Oh come on, I’m not going to rip your clothes off if that’s what you think! I just don’t wanna leave you yet. You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“No, you can sleep in your bed love. But I must get Baby. There’s no exceptions. Baby will be mine for the night and under no circumstances will you take her away from me.” 

“You haven’t even met her. What if she doesn’t like you?” 

“Every living thing likes me Chloe, haven’t you noticed?” 

“Can’t say I have. Okay fine, you can have Baby. Does that mean you’ll stay with me? Pleaseeeeee Hazza.” 

“Yes, yes alright Cherry but you better be a good girl. I don’t think I’ll have the strength to peel you off of me.” 

“I’m always a good girl, Harry.” I say with a wink, letting the alcohol send my flirting a little further than I would without it.

“I find that hard to believe. Let’s go before you keep talking and remind me why this is a terrible idea.” He pays the tab and we stumble out of the restaurant, Harry holding my purse for me while I’m holding onto him. He has his arm wrapped around my waist and is leading me out the door. All I can focus on is his smell. If I wasn’t already drunk, I’d be drunk off the way his hair smells like sunshine and warm honey.

We’re standing on the sidewalk, laughing and holding on to each other while I dig a cigarette out of my purse. We’re waiting for the Uber. I offer him one, but he politely declines. So polite even when he’s hammered. Who made this person? 

“You smell so good Haz.” 

“Do I? So do you. You smell like strawberries and cigarettes.” 

“Hey! That’s gross. I don’t smell like that.” 

“Yes you do and it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever smelled.” 

“You smell like warm honey and sunshine.” I giggle while inhaling my smoke, gazing up at him with the dorkiest grin on my face.

“What does sunshine smell like?” 

“You. Smells like Harry. The sun is jealous you took her scent.” 

“The sun’s a woman?”

“Of course she is Harry! All the best and most beautiful things are.” 

“You’re right, darling. The sun is definitely a woman.” The Uber pulls up the same time I finish my cig. I flick the butt in the street and climb inside, Harry behind me. Once we’re both in, I lean my head on his shoulder and he wraps me up in his arms.

“Like being here Harry. Feels nice.” 

“Being where?”

“In your arms. ‘S nice.” 

“I like having you here too.” We drive the rest of the way in silence, only thing you can hear is our heavy breathing and the light music playing in the background. My eyes are shut and I’m yawning. I know I need to get high soon but I can’t be bothered with that right now. I just like the feeling of being in someone’s arms again.

“We’re here, love.” Harry whispers against my hair. I groan and sit up, following him out of the car. I take his hand and lead him up to my apartment. Before I open the door, I almost choke. What if I have needles out? No one ever comes to my house, so I never have to worry about someone seeing them. Oh fuck. I don’t know how I’m gonna explain that. I’m praying, praying, praying that they’re all in my room and not just thrown about my living room. There’s no way for me to go in there before him to check, so I just have to hope that whatever God is out there, He hides them for me. 

I unlock the door and throw my bag on the floor, quickly looking around the small room. My eyes catch on an orange tip sticking out from under the couch, and another one on the coffee table behind a book I was reading earlier. I casually walk over to the couch and kick the one on the ground further underneath, while also picking up the couple books on the table and the rig along with it, trying to act natural. 

“Let me clean up a little bit. I’ll grab you some blankets.” I continue to look around, seeing if there’s any more drug paraphernalia I need to dispose of. I know there’s a crack stem under my bathroom sink and I know the rest of my needles are in my nightstand. I don’t see anything else out in the open except a couple wax baggies in the bathroom. I scoop everything up and shove it in my nightstand drawer, Harry so distracted by Baby that he doesn’t even notice. I come back into the living room where Harry has Baby snuggled up to his face. 

“Cherry she’s so cute! Why didn’t you tell me she’s so cute!” Baby seems to have taken an immediate liking to him. Me too, Baby. Me too. 

I throw some blankets and pillows on the couch, telling him I’ll be right back.

I do a shot in my room really quick. Just a little to make sure I don’t get sick in front of him. 

I’m embarrassed that I have to do this. But I’m also drunk and Harry Styles is my living room. I don’t have time to be embarrassed. 

I go back out to the living room, having changed into my shorts and baggy t shirt. Harry looks up at me as I walk in, staring my bare legs, making his way up my body and slowly looking over my chest and back up to my face. He’s biting his lip and making my face flush. I wonder what he’s thinking about. We stare at each other for a second, neither of us moving. I walk towards him, slowly, going to sit down next to him but he keeps staring at me and I don’t know what to do. I want him to touch me. I’m drunk and I just want Harry’s hands on me. I sit down next to him, never breaking eye contact as the silence in the room and his piercing gaze threaten to suffocate me. 

I’m sitting next to him, facing him, and his gaze keeps going from my eyes to my lips. Slowly, so so slowly, his face moves closer to mine, where if we just move an inch we’d be pressed together. I bite my lip, wondering, wondering, wondering if he wants to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss him. 

He hand cups my cheek, his thumb grazing over my bottom lip again, making my mouth part slightly and my breath catch in my throat. He’s tracing my lips again, and again I feel like I can’t think straight. Touch me, touch me, touch me is all I keep thinking. He moves a little closer, almost there. I’m a statue, I can’t move. He tilts his head to the side, I can feel his breath on my mouth. I breathe it in, just wanting to get any taste of him I can. I shut my eyes, waiting, waiting, waiting to feel the press of his lips against mine, when suddenly I’m met with cold air and the heat from his hand is gone. I snap my eyes open and see he’s pulled away, staring at the blank television. 

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea, Chloe. You’re drunk. Let’s get some sleep, yeah?” 

I snap out of the trance he had me in, grabbing the remote and putting on the tv. 

“Yeah of course, sorry. What do you wanna watch?” I flip through the channels, my hand almost shaking. 

“Anything, love. Let’s watch the cooking channel. I’ll need some new ideas if I’m going to impress you with my immaculate cooking skills.” I laugh and put it on, setting down the remote and turning off the side lamp. I curl into his side and he puts his arm around me again, lazily playing with my hair while the faint blue glow of the tv illuminates the room. 

We sit there like that for a while, his head on mine while he plays with my hair and my eyes get heavier and heavier. 

I vaguely remember strong arms carrying me into my bed, pulling the duvet over me and a feather light kiss being placed on my forehead. 

My dreams are filled with rivers of red wine and hot breath against my lips and ribbons and ribbons of beautiful laughter.


	7. Chapter 7

I wake up to the smell of pancakes. I hear music playing and utensils clanking around the kitchen. At first I’m confused, my head pounding and my body drenched in sweat. I feel awful, absolutely awful. Worse than usual. Who’s in my kitchen? Is Harry still here? Why hasn’t he left yet? Surely he only came here because we were drunk and I begged him to. Slowly, the memories of last night come back to me. The laughs, the wine, the almost kiss, the way Harry makes my heart race and my hands shake. 

I’m petrified. I need to get high. I’m sick and hungover and fucking Harry is in my goddamn kitchen. I groggily get up, peeling the covers off my sweat soaked skin, and go to the bathroom, grabbing my kit before I go. 

I quietly get high in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and staring at the blank white wall, wondering how I got here. Where did things go wrong? Why do things feel right when I’m looking into a pool of emerald eyes? I sit there for a few minutes, wondering, wondering, wondering until I have the energy to stand up and slide into the shower. My muscles are sore and my head is still pounding. Must be the hangover. Dope doesn’t really hide my pain anymore. I don’t feel as numb as I used to. All I can feel is hurt and pain and discomfort and fucking anger that I am the way I am. 

I shower and let the water wash away my thoughts, trying to rush and get out to Harry before he starts wondering where I am. 

I get out of the shower and change into shorts and a long sleeve shirt, making sure I cover up all the marks that Harry can’t see. I make my way into the kitchen, leaning against the door frame and watching Harry cook.

It’s a beautiful sight. He’s shirtless, making pancakes, and slightly dancing to the music playing. He looks so at ease, all strong arms and lithe limbs as he glides around the room like a dancer on stage. He looks like he belongs here, like he’s a permanent fixture in my kitchen. It’s jarring to see him like this and I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to see him here constantly. 

Rowan never made me pancakes.

He made me broken promises. 

He still doesn’t see me watching him. Admiring him. Wondering how this beautiful boy ended up here with a mess like me. 

As if on cue, he turns around, a smile taking up half his face and a cherubic dimple poking through. His eyes are glistening and I can’t do anything but stare at him. 

“Good morning love, I hope your hungry. There’s Advil on the counter and a bottle of water for you. I’m sure you’re hurting this morning.”

For a split second I freeze, thinking that he means I’m dope sick. Then I remember our night together and the red wine sliding down my throat. He’s right, I’m definitely hurting. Hurting more than he thinks I am. 

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do all of this.” I gestured around the kitchen with my hand. “You’re my guest, I should be the one cooking for you.” 

“Do you know how to cook?” He cocks an eyebrow at me. 

“Not really no but I’d be willing to give it a shot if it means you’ll be stuck here with me for a little while longer” I playfully smirk, leaning off the threshold and walking towards him. His eyes flicker to my legs again, but just barely. He still has that electrifying smile and that unfair dimple and his hair is a mess but he somehow pulls it off so effortlessly I wonder if he styled it on purpose like that. I walk up behind him and set a timid hand on his bare back. I feel his body tense underneath mine and I peek over his shoulder to see what he’s doing. I tilt my head to the left, offering him a small smile and drag my hand off him, making my way towards the island. 

The smell of maple syrup fills my nostrils and makes me stomach grumble. I haven’t had food like this at home since I lived with my mother. It’s refreshing to have it again.

I sit down at the island and look at him. He’s facing the stove and I can’t help but wonder what we’re doing here. The sun is streaming in through the patio doors and basking him in quiet yellow light, making the shadows of his back muscles tense and release while he continues to work. 

I stare at my hands in my lap, picking at my torn up cuticles and waiting. I don’t even know what I’m waiting for but I can’t really bring myself to speak. This is all so weird and confusing to me and completely unnatural and I fleetingly wonder if Rowan is watching this with a scowl on his face. 

Harry puts a plate in front of me, whisking me out of my thoughts. He’s made a little smiley face with the butter on top of the pancakes and it’s so innocent and adorable and stupid and for some odd reason I want to cry. I don’t, though. I just pick up my fork and start eating even though I don’t really have an appetite. They’re good, strangely good. I didn’t think fucking pancakes could be any better than just pancakes but they are. Is everything Harry does better? What the fuck is this person made from? 

A little moan escapes my lips as I say, “Damn Harry, these are good. What’d you do?” 

“Chloe you really shouldn’t make noises like that around me.” His voice is deep and heavy and he’s staring at me with those intense eyes and my face betrays me by turning red and I forcibly look down staring at anything other than him. 

A heavy silence settles, a few minutes passing while I eat and bacon sizzles and neither of us say anything. Finally, after what feels like an hour of awkward silence, Harry turns towards me and shrugs. “What can I say? I know how to cook. I took a few classes in Cheshire when I was younger. Loved it. If I wasn’t working on music I’d definitely be in the culinary industry.” 

“I’m an embarrassment in the kitchen. Can’t even make proper rice.” He laughs and shakes his head.

“I’m sure you’d be fine if you tried a little harder.” 

“Excuse you but I’ve tried very hard.” I furrow my brows and stab my fork into my next bite, popping it my mouth while scowling at him. 

“Doubtful. But it’s alright, we can’t all be talented like I am.” He’s smirking now, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. 

“Someone woke up this morning feeling very full of himself.” I look up through my lashes at him. He’s constructed a plate for himself and makes he way next to me to eat, sliding me a small plate of bacon and a cup of coffee. I don’t even remember seeing him make coffee. 

We eat in silence. My thoughts are loud and I’m almost positive he can hear them. I’m nervous and he’s always staring at me and I’d honestly love for him to fucking leave but I also want him to stay here forever, knowing everything about me and not caring about any of it. 

“He died, you know.” I blurt out. The second it leaves my lips, I wish I could take it back. I don’t look up. I don’t say anything else. I felt Harry’s head whip towards me and can feel his fucking unrelenting gaze piercing into my skull and I need to get high before I lose it. The room is closing in on me and I’m not sure I’m even breathing. The world is shaking and I’m sure that those words erupted an earthquake. Rowan must be furious, lashing out and making the ground shake from his screams.

The ground always felt like it was shaking when he screamed at me. 

“Who did?” I can picture him furrowing his brows with a slight tilt to his head, his chocolate curls lightly brushing his forehead, his creamy skin wrinkled with concern and confusion. I don’t answer him for a while. I don’t know what to say. 

The silence is choking me. His eyes looking at the side of my face while I continue to eat is choking me. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this. I don’t know why I’m doing it now. I hunch my shoulders and wish, wish, wish I could make myself smaller. 

I take a deep breath, setting my fork down and just staring at my now empty plate. “My ex boyfriend. The one I mentioned before.” My voice is shaky and I wonder if he notices I’m one word away from curling in on myself and rushing into my room to do a shot. 

“I’m sorry Cherry. I don’t know what to say. Would you like to talk about it?” He’s so fucking polite and concerned and I can’t deal with this right now. Maybe not ever. What have I done to deserve him being so nice to me? What fucking kitten did I save in a past life to have Harry Styles being fucking nice to me in my kitchen? God knows I haven’t done a damn thing in this one to deserve it. 

“No.” It’s final and unwavering. I’m as still as a statue and Harry just slowly gets up and takes both our plates without saying anything. He walks to the kitchen and washes them in the sink. I still haven’t moved. If I move, I’m going directly to my room. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to anymore. I want to stay here. 

He walks over to me, I feel him looking down at me while I’m just staring at my hands, still unmoving. He lightly pulls my hair back from my face, his fingers brushing against my cheek. A shudder runs through my body. 

“That’s okay. Whenever you’re ready. If you’re never ready, that’s okay, too.” He continues to play with my hair, standing behind me. And I’m going to lose it in about a minute now. Any second. Here it comes.

Quicker than he could’ve anticipated, I jump up from my seat, giving him a mumbled ‘excuse me’ before walking in my room and locking the door. I do exactly what I tried to avoid doing. I get high again. I’m embarrassed and ashamed and nothing can get rid of that besides a nice strong shot in the arm.

About twenty minutes later I walk out into the living room with a renewed vigor. Okay, I can do this. Everything’s fine. The conversation is over and we never have to discuss it again. Harry is now dressed and picking up his keys off the table when he turns and looks at me. He gives me a small smile, and, is that pity I see behind his eyes? I don’t want him to pity me. 

“I’m gonna head out, love. Got some errands to run today. I’ll see you soon though, yeah?” He’s walking towards me now, his limbs long and steady, black sunglasses perched on top of his mess of curls which are pulled back from his face with a head scarf. A fucking headscarf. Can he get any more perfect? It’s disgusting, honestly. 

He walks up to me, looking down while I’m looking up, his eyes scanning over my face, searching for something. I’m not sure what. 

“Yeah of course. Okay, yeah. See you soon.” The words tumble out of my mouth while he gently caresses my face. I subconsciously lean in towards his touch, his long fingers and big hand taking up the whole side of my face and he cradles it. My eyes shut and my breathing deepens just slightly because this feels normal and right and absolutely terrifying. 

“Right. See you soon.” He quickly places a chaste kiss to my forehead, removing his hand and heading towards the door. He leans down and gives one quick pet to Baby before he looks back at me, winks, and leaves the house. 

The door shuts with a final click. 

I scared him off. I had to of. He seemed content in hanging out here with me before I made a fool of myself. 

I lay down on the couch, Baby cuddled into my side, thinking about how much I know Harry’s regretting ever spending time with a mess like me. 

I knew he was going to feel all my jagged edges. 

He must of cut himself every time he touched me and I was too busy staring at his emerald eyes and his unnatural pink lips and his wild curls that never seem to stay organized to notice the blood pooling on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the fics on here have definitely inspired me and I like to add little things from each one to give them some credit! 
> 
> Strawberry Milk & Young & Beautiful are my two all times favs and I suggest reading them if you haven’t! 
> 
> Thanks for anyone reading so far!
> 
> All the love,  
> -E


	8. Chapter 8

Harry’s POV

This is utter shite. The poor girl is absolutely falling apart. She’s a mess, a good proper mess, and I don’t think I have the ability to do a damn thing about it. I try to be patient, I really do. I want to help. Truly, honestly, want to help. But what can I do for someone who has nothing but emptiness behind her eyes? I don’t even really know what’s wrong. She hasn’t let a single thing slip. You can tell, though. You can tell there’s a lot she isn’t saying. She’s a dark, barren landscape with tiny wisps of light, so tiny you’d miss them if you weren’t a bloody expert in the many emotions of Chloe. Sometimes when she talks or banters, there’s nothing. It doesn’t reach her eyes. She’ll laugh along and play pretend but none of its real to her. But sometimes, something will spark. Sometimes she’ll really laugh. And it sounds like flutes and harps and angels singing a fucking chorus and I’ve never in all my years heard something as breathtaking as her laugh. 

I’m driving to the studio. I needed to get out of there for a minute. I knew as soon as she said it, that she didn’t mean to. I guess that’s a good thing right? But then she immediately shut down. You could tell by looking at her that she was like hardened glass. You would have to smash her to pieces to get her to open up. There was no easy way to do it. You can’t gently pry your way in. Gentle isn’t in Cherry’s vocabulary. You wanna know the answers? You have to break her the fuck open. And I don’t think she’s really ready for that. 

I don’t even know if I am. 

I constantly feel like I’m reaching out to her, reaching out through pools of encompassing darkness to grab on to all the frayed little bits of her I can. I don’t know why I care so much, I shouldn’t. But I do. And after she called me in the middle of the night and I saw her brokenness for what it was, complete chaos and constant days of emptiness and playing pretend, I decided that even though I shouldn’t care, I don’t really give a fuck and I’m gonna care anyways. There’s something magnetic about her. Something secret and quiet and not quite appealing but more curious than anything. I need to know what it is. 

It doesn’t help that she’s so beautiful and doesn’t even know it. Not even a little bit. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. She’s loud and unrelenting even when she hasn’t said a word. 

I drive to the studio, needing to get this song out of my head. 

“Tell me something   
You don’t know nothing  
Just pretend you do.   
I need something,   
tell me something new.  
Choose your words,  
Cause there’s no antidote  
For this curse.” 

The first time I saw her, I was getting ready to head out on a flight. I stopped in Theresa’s to grab a quick coffee and I saw her from across the room. It was surprising. She wasn’t even doing anything exciting. Just sitting there reading her book and I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the first time I saw her. But it was the first time I was seeing her. All bones and tan skin and long dark hair and bright blue eyes that were aggressively taking in all the words on the pages in front of her. 

She looked sad. She looked disheveled while being completely put together and beautiful. But instead of emitting a lightness and happiness, it was all dark shadows and fog. It was confusing and intimidating and I was completely infatuated with knowing more about her and wondering why she’s so goddamn sad and alone. 

I don’t really know how to explain it. I’ve never been able to look at someone I’ve never spoken to and just know that something isn’t right there. 

Somewhere along the way she got lost. Something happened to her. 

I have so many questions and no answers to any of them.

All she’s shared is little bits of real laughter and little bits of real affection and they barely lasted a second. 

I don’t think she’s as good of an actress as she thinks she is. 

She has so much more to offer than what she’s giving herself. You can tell by one look that she could be so much better than this. I don’t even know what this is. But whatever she’s doing, she’s better than it. 

And then today. I didn’t know how to help her. I just want to ask her all the questions that are scattered in my head whenever I look into those eyes full of absolutely nothing but blue and green oceans. 

So many questions, like why does she only wear long sleeves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little tid bit into Harry’s mind! 
> 
> Enjoy xx


	9. Chapter 9

I’m embarrassed now. I’ve been sitting around for hours waiting for a text, a call, anything from Harry to ensure I haven’t scared him off. I don’t want to be the first to reach out, absolutely not. The last thing I want to do is make myself seem more pathetic than I already have. He looked at me with such pity, such deep fucking sadness that I couldn’t even keep eye contact. After he left, I got really fucking high. Anything to take away the memory of me mumbling out those stupid words with a bumpy voice and even worse, not being able to continue the conversation without jetting off into my room and into the quiet creeping darkness that drugs give me. 

I sighed and stretched my limbs out across the couch, mindlessly watching some reality show, trying to ignore the ache in my chest that proves just how much I wanted Harry to stay. 

He’s so endearing and charming and full of a thousand surprises and every time he touches me my skin prickles with a thousand pins in the best way possible. I hang on to every word he says. His enthusiasm alighting his face and making me cling to every phrase and every laugh and every movement whenever he’s talking about something that matters to him. So many things ignite a fire in his words and it’s so enthralling and provocative that you really can’t look away or listen to anything else. It’s tragic, really. My own personal shakespearean tragedy. I wish I could’ve met him in another life. A life where Rowan didn’t control every thought and action from infinitely far away and especially out of my reach. A life where I wasn’t brittle and weak and had a fucking monolithic addiction to heroin. 

Just as I’m about to get up and go anywhere but here, I get a text:

Harry: Sorry for leaving so quickly. Dinner tonight? A proper date. 

Me: Yeah sounds good. What time? 

Harry: I’ll be at your house at 8. Dress nice. 

Me: Nice? What do you mean? Where are you taking me?! How nice is “nice”? 

Harry: Relax, I’m sure you’ll look lovely no matter what you wear. See you then xx 

Oh fuck. A date? What does one even wear to a date anymore. I don’t think I’ve ever even been on a date. Not a real one anyways. Not one where you dress in slippery dresses and heels that dig into your feet and get fed hors d’oeuvres and drink expensive wine that no one can pronounce. Harry certainly has money, lots of it. You can tell by his plain tee shirts that, unless you’re fucking choking on money, you wouldn’t buy in designer. His Prada boots I just so happen to have gotten a glimpse of looked freshly bought, too pristine to have been worn more than a few times, his glittering gold watch on his wrist that had more than a few blinding diamonds embedded in its face, and his sleek and shining black Range Rover were dead giveaways that this kid definitely wasn’t struggling and could probably blow more than a few car payments on a dinner date. He even walks like the wealthy, strutting about on his long legs that, honestly, should be dedicated their own fucking country, and exalting an air of importance and power and prowess, even though he literally trips over his own feet. Which is why I’m having a subtle anxiety attack wondering what the fuck to wear. 

I don’t even know what the fucker does for work. 

I’d be lying if I said the thought of robbing him blind hasn’t crossed my mind on more than one occasion. 

He’s just so goddamn nice. Nice kids with money falling out of their mouths are the easiest to swindle. A few sweet words and a few brushes of my fingers and a few calculated laughs and I’m in their house before you know it. 

Rowan taught me how to do lots of things, but stealing from unsuspecting rich bitch kids in LA was probably the most useful.

And the most fucked up. 

But bartending wasn’t bringing in enough cash. And Rowan was trying to make it big. Which also wasn’t bringing in enough cash. Well, any cash at all if I’m being honest. 

Kids in their fucking summer homes with mahogany foyers and marble staircases and gold trim without a single greasy fingerprint and ugly Persian rugs. The kids, with more money than they know what to do with, loved bringing home pretty young girls like me. Pretty young girls they thought would be an easy fuck, impressing them with their fat Gucci wallets and pretentious monologues on how they’ve been playing Tchaikovsky on piano since they were fucking six. They’re all the same, none of them even a lick different. All of them with their regurgitated compliments and false charm and zero sense of real world problems. All of them with preconceived notions and piss poor attitudes. Sometimes, with the real miserable ones, it actually felt good to take from them, felt especially good to finesse them while they thought they were the ones bringing home the prize. Even their houses all look the same, polished and glistening and so disgustingly posh. Slick walls and untouched crystal decanters and fucking lion statues guarding their driveways, all of it always feeling unimpressive and extremely stuffy. They all blurred and blended into the same people to me. I’m not sure if that’s because I was wrecked out of my mind or if it’s because they’re really all the same. Showered in life long decadence and privilege, each one thinking the sun shines out of their ass. I’d still gag if I ever hear one more person tell me they’ll fetch their driver to come pick us up. So yeah, you could say I’m a little bitter when it comes to the wealthy. That’s certainly not how I grew up, not even close. I almost felt bad about all the havoc I wrecked on those naive little boys. 

Almost.

But as soon as Harry spoke to me that first night we went to the cliff, the thought didn’t cross my mind again. 

How could I ever do that to a man who quoted Oscar Wilde and talked about the mistreatment of zoo animals and idolized his mom and sister? The same man who likes classic novels and knows about more types of flowers than I do? The same man who may be rich but would never own a real fur coat and loathes candy corn but eats it every Halloween since he feels so guilty that everyone always throws it away? He’s layered and intricate and I’ve been having a good fucking time picking him apart. 

And he looks at me like I’m worth something. 

No ones looked at me like that in a long, long time. 

Maybe not ever.

Am I worth anything? 

I’ve been worth a few drunk blowjobs in dark, wet alleyways for some extra cash since I owe my dope boy money.

I’ve been worth trips to modern mansions, having mediocre sex and shutting my eyes, pretending it’s Rowan; quietly scouring their drawers and cabinets afterwards for father’s expensive watches and mother’s expensive diamonds before slipping out to Rowan’s parked car down the street. 

I’ve been worth songs written about me in fields of daisies, my skin slick with broken promises of better tomorrows and disappointing yesterdays. 

I’ve never been worth much more than that, though.

But Harry doesn’t know any of it. Doesn’t know the never ending list of people I’ve hurt and people I’ve robbed and people I’ve lied to and families I’ve ruined, including my own. And he still looks at me like I’m worth something. 

The kid looks like the stars were made for him, that the moon bows for him every morning and the sun gives him a standing ovation in its place, and he still looks at me like I’m worth something. 

So now I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to wear. And it’s got to be good. Really good. Especially after my episode earlier. I’ve got to impress him. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, I almost forgot I had it in me. I almost forgot I could be charming and witty and sexy. I forgot because I’m not. Chloe is definitely not any of those things. But Cherry, she can be. I used to be, back when it was just Rowan and me against the world. The drugs supplied me with enough false confidence and blurred edges to feel ready to snag my next conquest and revel in his inevitable demise, all with Rowan by my side, reminding me that I can do this, I have to do this, or else they won’t have enough money to be well again tomorrow. Cherry definitely knows how to play a character, and I’m going to try my best to unleash that part of myself that I’ve tried so hard to repress. I know how to dress up my curves, displaying long legs and hooded eyes and just the right small smile. 

But I’ve lost a lot of weight since I’ve last done this.

And it’s been a very, very long time since I’ve last done this.

But, all in all, this is how the nickname Cherry came about anyways. The first thing I ever stole from a unwilling participant was a diamond emblazoned Rolex. Before I left the house, I snatched a cherry red Chanel lipstick from the woman’s vanity, just to keep a little memento to myself. And then it became a thing. I stole a little tiny thing for myself at every house I’ve been to. 

Rowan started calling me Cherry. It just stuck. 

But I couldn’t very well tell Harry that story, could I? 

I’m sorting through my closet, looking for what could possibly be my choice for tonight. I try on, what feels like, a hundred different outfits and dresses, trying to find something that simultaneously looks good and also hides my track marks. Not an easy feat. 

Finally, shoved all the way in the back, I find a long sleeved, short, skin tight black dress. Just the right amount of couth and class while still being sultry and a little eye catching. I slip on a pair of blood red heels and decide that, yes, this is definitely it. 

As 8pm rolls around, I do my makeup and hair, lots of long dark curls and smoky eyes and chiseled out cheekbones. Black mascara and a very thin film of lipgloss and dainty diamond earrings, another lovely souvenir from a less than lovely rich kid’s unknowing mother. 

Before I get a chance to psyche myself out, Harry texts that he’s here. I take a deep breath and try to relax, the last shot I just did definitely helping with that, as I saunter out the door. Trying to pretend that this is just another wealthy arrogant prick, that it’s not the adorable and sexy and endearing Harry, and pray to whatever the fuck is up there that this goes well. 

Naturally, all of my self talk and ‘hyping myself up’ exercises I did before I walk to his car vanish as soon as I see him standing outside, leaning against it. I immediately look into those bewitching jade eyes, his curls cascading down like rivers of chocolate, and a dimple that Michelangelo or God or whoever the fuck must’ve carved themselves cause there’s no way a man looks like that. His sheer, almost see through, black button up contrasts against his creamy pale skin, with black slacks on that shouldn’t fit him as well as they do. His feet are adorned in another pair of sleek black boots, a hint of red poking out of the bottom of his propped foot, and an all black Louis Vuitton belt brandishing his midriff. I don’t think I’m actually breathing at this point. 

So yeah, tough girl act is definitely out the window when I feel like I’m melting all over the floor. 

The part that’s really making me melt though, is how Harry is looking at me. His gaze travels from the soles of my shoes to the top of my head, coming back down to rest on my eyes. And we’re staring at each other. Just staring. It feels like hours. It’s probably only been seconds. This feels different for some reason. Like, now we’re actually starting. This is going to be the beginning of something, I just know it. You can feel the static in the air and I’m getting goosebumps all over, my body betraying me with the blush in my cheeks. I’m not quite sure what the beginning is, but I’m terrified and a little excited. And whatever’s going on in the air around us, the spark and electricity, I’ve never been more sure that Rowan isn’t here to fuck it all up. 

Finally, finally, his plump, pink lips upturn into one of those devilish half smiles. His voice comes out syrupy and rich, making my bones shake inside my body. 

“Hello Chloe, I’m glad you could make it darling.”


	10. Chapter 10

I’m so nervous I feel like I’m going to pass out right in front of him. He extends his hand out to me and I give him my own. He slowly brings my hand to his mouth, tenderly kissing each knuckle, while looking up at me through those gorgeous dark lashes. 

How does he do this to me? 

No one has ever made me feel this way before. 

With Rowan it was fun and lax and easy. With Harry it’s all those things with a heavy dose of trepidation, wondering if I’m going to ruin this boy like he’s ruined me. 

I offer him a small smile, feeling my cheeks heat with the way he’s staring at me. He opens the car door for me, helping me inside. Before he shuts the door, he leans in, his warm breath trailing over my ear. 

“You look... ravishing.” I suck in a breath, unsure how to react to that when such a simple sentence made a tangled web of desire pool in my stomach. 

He gets in the driver seat, leaving me at a literal loss of words, and heads towards down town.

“Where are we going?” I ask him, forcing myself to turn and look at him. I’m trying to make myself feel more comfortable and confident. I can’t just be a nervous wreck the whole time. 

“Well, you see, I was gonna take you out to dinner. Real nice place and all. But then I figured we already did that bit and I think you need some fun, Cherry. Some good, old fashioned, get drunk and dance with me type of fun.” He smiles that cheeky fucking smile towards me and my eyes basically bug out of my head. 

“Dancing?! Oh fuck Harry I haven’t done anything like that in so long! I thought you were gonna court me properly, like the gentleman you are.” 

“I opened your door for you, that wasn’t chivalrous enough?” 

“That barely counts.” I roll my eyes and cross my arms, a tiny smile playing on my lips because I’m actually fucking excited to go out and feel like a normal girl. I haven’t felt normal in a long time. 

“It definitely counts but I’ll ignore that. I’m so much fun, Cherry. You’re gonna love it.” 

“I’m not sure, you’re quite boring sometimes.” He peeks over at me out of the corner of his eye, a mischievous smile toying at his lips.

“Really? Looks like I’ll have to prove to you just how exciting I can be.” His voice deepens and I almost get whiplash with how fast this boy can go from playful to provocative in two seconds flat.

“Don’t disappoint me, Styles.” 

“I never disappoint, darling. I can promise you that.” 

“Why don’t you show me instead? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, darling.”

Before I even realize what’s happening, Harry pulls the car over and throws it in park. I snap my head over to him, completely confused as to why he’s suddenly parked along the side of the street. 

“Harry what are-“ I start to say, my brows furrowed.

“You know Cherry, this whole time I’ve known you, you’ve had a smart little mouth.” He cuts me off, undoing his seatbelt and leaning towards me. His voice low and dark and almost dangerous. “And every time, all I can think about is how I’d love to punish you for it.” His sultry voice is layering me like silk on my skin. He tucks his mouth right at my earlobe, his hot breath tickling me and sending shivers down my spine. His large hand is grazing the top of my bare thigh. Touching me, but not quite. “I can think of a thousand ways to be exciting, Chloe. It’s a matter of how many of them you can handle.” He ghosts across my ear, lightly, so very lightly, letting his teeth nip the soft skin. I can’t breath and my heart is hammering in my chest. I never expected this and I didn’t even think Harry had this side to him. He’s such a nice boy, so soft and lovely. I was always attracted to him, but this is a completely different side I never could’ve anticipated.

“I think you’d be surprised at what I can handle.” I say under my breath, barely able to get the words out. I still haven’t moved, waiting to see what he does next.

A light chuckle vibrates against my ear, his long fingers finally connecting with my thigh and gently squeezing before slowly running up the length of my body. His hand travels further up, above my dress, and making its way towards my breasts. He lets one finger graze right underneath them before snapping to my neck. Not gripping it, just lazily wrapped around my throat. “Keep using that smart mouth of yours and I’ll find out.” He whispers against my jawline, trailing his lips back up towards my ear. Before I have a chance to respond, he brings his hand to my chin and snaps my face towards his, our foreheads nearly touching. His grip on my jaw is hard, and my eyes are locked with his. His lips are parted, pink and full and I desperately wish I could bridge the gap between us and feel them against mine. He leans in closer now, his eyes hooded and pupils slightly dilated. The green of his irises are bright and clouding my vision. His grip on my jaw is still strong when he says, “Now, tell me again how boring I can be.” He voice echoes through my whole being and makes my body tense up. I don’t say anything, his lips a centimeter away from mine. I can’t keep my eyes off of his, it’s like I’m in a trance, hanging on to every word he says like it’s the heroin that’s running through my veins. 

“I don’t like to be ignored, Cherry.” He says with gravel in his voice, his eyes darkening.

“You aren’t boring.” I manage to squeak out, enamored with everything he’s doing. His lips quirk up into a smirk, eyes closing and his lips lightly touch the side of my mouth. 

“Good girl.” He gives me one last swipe of his lips against my jawline before pulling back into the drivers seat while I’m literally motionless.

Did that honestly just happen? 

I’m still struggling to breath when Harry refastens his seatbelt and gets back on the road. I glance over at him, and his two fingers are playing with his lip, looking like he’s trying to hold back a smile. Finally, I have to speak up. My ego can’t let him think he’s gotten me that worked up, even though he definitely has.

“Quite a performance Haz. Bravo, really. I’m impressed.” My voice dripping in sarcasm. He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Seems like someone wants to find out if I meant what I said about that smart mouth of hers.” 

“Not interested, thanks though.” 

“Really? Because if I recall, you had a real tough time breathing about three minutes ago.” 

“I was breathing just fine.” Even though we both knew that was a lie. 

“Not a problem, darling. I can’t wait to see how much you regret all of this attitude you’re giving me.” His voice drops to that low, commanding tone that he had a few minutes prior. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, torn between shutting my mouth and egging him on just to see what he’d actually do. Before I can decide either way, he speaks up, talking as if none of that just happened.

“We’re almost there. You’re okay with this right? I know you said you haven’t been out to a club or anything in a while.” His tone is lighter now, back to the Harry I’ve known this whole time. As if that darker side to him didn’t exist.

I have a darker side, too.

I wonder what he’d say if he saw mine.

“Yes I’m sure, Haz. I’m actually kinda pumped for this.” 

“Yeah, I thought you’d enjoy it. It’s one of my favorite spots to go out to. I think you’ll find it rather interesting.” As if on cue, he pulls up to the valet. The tall dark building has one word etched on the front, illuminated in neon red light: 

Euphoria. 

Harry gets out of the car, handing his keys over and walking towards my side to open my door. He helps me out, keeping a hand on the small of my back as he guides me inside. We completely surpass the line to get in and he gets us through the door without getting stopped by anyone. Who is this man? Why does he seem so important but hasn’t ever mentioned it? It’s bizarre and I make a mental note to find out exactly what he does for a living by the end of the night.

The music is blaring, the beat vibrating the floor and pulsating the dense mass of bodies dancing against each other. It’s been years since I was in an environment like this. It makes me a little uneasy, but mostly I’m just happy to be here with Harry. I’m happy to pretend to be a normal girl with normal interests and a normal life and without an abnormally large secret. 

Speaking of secret, it’s about time for me to do a shot.

And not the alcoholic type.

“Harry? Could you grab me a drink at the bar? I’m gonna use the restroom.” I lean up and say into his ear, since there’s no way he can hear me at a normal volume.

“Of course love. Any preference?” 

“Uh, vodka soda? See you in a minute.” I take off towards the bathroom, praying there isn’t a long line. I just want to get this over with. 

This little detour messes up the “normal” mantra I’ve been repeating to myself the whole time.

Normal girls don’t sneak away from their date to shove a needle in their arm. 

I snake my way through the crowd, pushing through to the ladies room. Luckily there’s no line, so I beeline towards the stall, gliding through lots of drunk girls fixing their makeup in the mirror and talking to each other.

I sit on the toilet and get out my kit. Unfortunately I don’t have any water on me and I definitely can’t grab some from the sink with all those people there, so I do what I’ve done a thousand times. 

I turn around and take the back of the toilet off, sucking up the water with the needle until I have enough. Not the most sanitary measure, but it gets the job done. 

After mixing and tying off and the whole dirty deed is done, I sit and enjoy the rush for a couple seconds, feeling much more relaxed than I did before. All the uneasiness is gone. I have a brief flash of Rowan looking disapprovingly at me in my mind, but shake it off and tell myself how much fun tonight will be. 

I leave the bathroom and go looking for Harry. I’m hoping he’s by the bar because there’s no way I’ll ever be able to find him through the throngs of people. The lighting is dim, overcast by a consistent faint red glow. The atmosphere screams sex, drugs and bad decisions. Heavy with regret and stale smoke and the sharp smell of liquor, this place makes you want to lose yourself. There’s beautiful, half naked women dancing in cages around the room, elevated above everyone else. Along the far right wall, there’s multiple different booths, roped off and more secluded than the rest of the place. Some of the booths are shrouded by thick black curtains, people weaving in and out of them. I wonder what’s going on behind some of those closed curtains. Whatever they’re doing, I want to be a part of it. 

This is where I thrive.

Chaos and mistakes and demons coming out to play. 

I feel uncomfortable in everyday life because I don’t know how to be an everyday person.

But I know how to get high, and I know how to make bad choices, and I know how to make myself forget. 

And somewhere like this is exactly where I can do all of those things. 

I wonder if Harry feels the same way. Maybe that’s why he brought me here. He obviously has layers to him I didn’t see coming. 

I wonder if my demons will have fun with his. 

As I’m taking all of this in, I’m still looking around for Harry. Eventually I spot him at the bar, leaning on the counter and talking with the bartender, two drinks in hand. I make my way over to him, placing a hand on his back once I get there. 

He turns around and smiles one of his really big, dimply smiles. One of those smiles that makes my heart burst in my chest. He hands me my drink, leaning down.

“Take a shot with me.” 

“Always.” I answer immediately. He hands me a shot of tequila, tapping glasses before the liquor slides down my throat, burning along the way. I go to grab my lime but he beats me to it, holding it out in front of him. I go to grab it but he pulls it back. 

“Open up, angel.” He’s staring down at me and the red lights make his cheekbones look sharp and his eyes dark. I part my lips without a second thought and he slips the lime in my mouth, holding it while I bite down. The juice slides down my chin, but he catches it with his thumb, slipping it in my mouth. I wrap my mouth around his thumb, sucking off the juice, the citrus enveloping my taste buds. I let my tongue feel around it, keeping eye contact while I continue to suck. He just keeps watching me, his eyes not revealing a single thing. He pulls his thumb back out, slowly smiling. 

“That’s my good girl.” My stomach twists at his words. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through tonight. I didn’t even know I liked that kind of stuff; the intimidating, assertive word play and power struggle during sex. I’ve never been called ‘good girl’ and I’ve never been punished before. Well, not in the way Harry’s insinuating. Rowan has been forceful and punishing and merciless and scary, but it was never fun. I was never in control. I was always shutting my eyes and pretending I was anywhere else; pretending I was laying in the daisies watching the clouds while Rowan watched me. 

Sometimes I forget the bad times with him. 

But I’m starting to remember them more.

I remember waking up with him inside me while I was too out of it to fight back. 

Rowan owned me, I was always his property just as much as I was his lover and partner and friend. 

That’s how it’s supposed to be. 

Isn’t it? 

Harry grabs my hand, snapping me out of my thoughts. 

“You alright, love? You look lost in thought.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just got distracted.” I mumble, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. 

“Care to elaborate?” He cocks an eyebrow, and I know he’s wondering what I was thinking about. 

“Nope. Now show me how fun you are Styles.” I smile and pull him into the grinding bodies, drink in hand. He follows me with that same mischievous smile plastered on his face. 

He’s so lovely, sometimes I can’t even believe that I’m around him. 

His chocolate curls frame his face, getting a little longer than they were when I first met him. A lone curl relaxes against his forehead and his eyes are bright and full of adventure. Sometimes, when I look into them, I see the miles of grassy green fields and it kind of makes me feel at ease again. Reminds me of being in a place that makes me feel like home. 

Maybe that’s why I’m so enamored with Harry. 

He makes me feel like home, a little bit. 

I haven’t had a home in so long, I forgot what it felt like. 

We start dancing, dancing, dancing. Hot bodies and stupid laughs and sweat making our hair stick to our foreheads but it’s fun. I’m on drink number three and shot number four I think and I’m having so much fucking fun I almost forget that I’m sad.

I’m almost forget everything. 

All I can see is the emerald eyes in front of me and I’d die happy right now if that’s all I see ever again for the rest of my life.


End file.
